Sometimes The Only Winning Move Is Not To Play
by war hippy fatigues
Summary: Don't bother reading this, it's trash
1. An Introduction

_This story was based on the realization that a lot of Voldemort's schemes relied heavily on Harry being the sort of person who would try to thwart them. Thus, this story features a Harry Potter, who, among other things, is not particularly confrontational._

* * *

For the Dursley family, it was a badly kept secret that they had a fourth member of the family. Very badly kept, as anyone interested in that person could see him leaving the house for school in the morning and returning in the afternoon. On the other hand, it seemed as if no one in the world would be interested in that person. Indeed, that was how that person preferred it.

That person was named Harry Potter, but he was usually simply called Harry by his adoptive family. Being a child of 'freaks', as Petunia called them, he had originally been mistrusted by the Dursleys, but after they had seen him grow to be a somewhat normal boy, they were content, for the most part, to leave him be. They had been worried that he would manifest something out of the ordinary, but they had never seen him display anything unusual.

That was not to say his life had been perfectly normal. Harry had discovered, over the years, that the world was not quite as normal as it seemed to be. For one, his hair seemed to desire to cover up the scar on his forehead, to the point where it would mysteriously grow back in hours even if it had been trimmed. It also seemed that he would sometimes gain the uncanny ability not to be seen when he did not want to be seen, back in the days when Dudley used to try and bully him. Dudley would stare where he was, in broad daylight, but was unable to find him.

Strangest of all was his ability to talk to snakes.

This was something he had discovered one evening, years ago, when one scaly specimen had found its way into Petunia's yard. Harry, tasked with gardening, had run into the snake, which, instead of hissing, screamed. Or, it may have been that others would have heard it hissing while Harry heard a scream.

It turned out that most snakes were just as afraid of humans as most humans were afraid of snakes. They preferred to avoid the living spaces of humans whenever possible, although they were sometimes tempted there by the prospect of getting an extra juicy mouse. Upon learning of a human who could talk with them, however, many of the neighborhood serpents paid a visit to the curious boy.

After talking with a few snakes, Harry decided he preferred them for company to people. Snakes did not care at all for small talk, and were never keen on wasting his time, just as he was keen on not wasting theirs. It made him wonder if all animals were secretly like that, only separated from humans by the thin barrier of language...

All of this he kept hidden as best as possible from the Dursleys. He had heard enough of his aunt and uncle's snide comments to know that any sort of irregularity in their lives would be bad news for him. Fortunately, they had never caught him disappearing or talking to snakes in front of them, and were willing to chalk up the behavior of his hair to coincidence. Instead, the Dursleys were content to treat Harry as an unwanted son, and Harry was content with being an unwanted son. The Dursleys would have him do his chores, and would rarely speak to him otherwise. Harry would do his chores, and would rarely speak to them. It was an arrangement he was quite okay with.

Which wasn't to say that living with the Dursleys was perfect. Harry would have preferred if he could get something more for his birthday then a couple of pounds, or socks. He also would have liked it if could sleep somewhere that wasn't the cupboard under the stairs. It did offer seclusion, something he quite enjoyed, but there wasn't much room and it was filled with spiders.

On the whole, though, it certainly could have been worse.

Harry was convinced that his life wouldn't change until he went to a university and finally left the Dursleys behind, but a day late one summer changed that.

Something strange happened that day. The strange thing was that Harry got a letter addressed to him. He had never gotten any mail before.

Harry was careful not to let the Dursleys know that someone was corresponding with him. He told them that the extra letter he carried with him after giving them the rest of the day's mail was just some advertisement for window cleaners.

The letter itself was also quite odd. It claimed that he was a wizard, and that he had been accepted to a school for witchcraft and wizardry (was there even a difference between the two?). A school called Hogwarts; what kind of school would be named Hogwarts, of all things? It sounded like a prank letter.

Still... perhaps there might be some truth to it. He could speak to snakes, after all, and he couldn't think of an explanation for that outside of magic. Perhaps he could ask them about it.

He was halfway through writing a letter in response to theirs when he realized that they hadn't left a valid return address. Indeed, Harry doubted the postal service would be able to, or even be interested in delivering mail to any "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." The letter didn't even have any stamps; just how had it ended up in their mailbox?

Harry learned the answer to that question the next day, when he saw an owl delivering another copy of the same letter to their house. After a bit of thought, Harry told the owl to wait while he finished writing his response. The owl hadn't left when he got back outside, but it was quite snippy when he tried to get it to deliver his letter. Harry thought it might be asking for payment, although he had no idea what kind of money it would want. Eventually, it agreed to take the letter he wrote, although not before it bit one of his fingers.

The next day, an owl did not return with a reply. Instead, it seemed that the school had decided to send an emissary, for Harry guessed that the giant man he saw through the window ringing the doorbell must have had something to do with magic.

"Go and answer the door, Harry," Uncle Vernon grumbled, refusing to look up from his newspaper.

Harry was happy to oblige, as he didn't think his uncle and the giant outside would get along very well.

When he opened the door, the large man was ecstatic.

"Hello there, Harry!" he roared. "It's bin so long since I've seen yeh. Of course, you were just a baby then. The name's Hagrid."

Harry frowned. "Are you here about this... magic business?" he asked.

"Why, of course I am!" Hagrid said. "Surely, you must know-"

"Hold on a minute, please," Harry said.

Leaving the door faintly open, he walked back inside to talk to Uncle Vernon.

"A man from Stonewall High wanted to talk to me," Harry said. "He's giving lectures to all the future students about how to avoid delinquent behaviors."

"Well, be sure not to displease him," Vernon said, and returned to reading about the recent exploits of the prime minister and his plate of fried eggs.

Harry went back outside, where Hagrid was impatiently waiting.

"Sorry about that," Harry said. "I just needed to talk to my uncle about something. Now, if this magic stuff really is real-"

"'Course it's real!" Harid interjected.

"-then I'd prefer if the Dursleys didn't hear of it, unless it was absolutely necessary. Is that okay?"

"Magic's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry," Hagrid said.

"Perhaps not, but all the same, it'd be better if they didn't know. Can we keep this a secret?"

Hagrid shrugged. "I guess."

"Great. Now, I'd like to know why I can talk to snakes, and what that has to do with magic..."


	2. A Little Bit Of Shopping

"So, my parents didn't die in a car crash?"

"A car crash?! Of course not!"

It turned out that Hagrid had quite a bit to explain about magic. After beginning with a demonstration, by attempting to water Petunia's flowers with his pink umbrella (he only managed a few drops), he went on to explain that talking to snakes was a very rare talent. Historically associated with bad wizards, it had slowly died out with many of the older families. Harry was the only 'parselmouth' that Hagrid knew of, in fact. As far as Hagrid knew, none of Harry's family could talk to snakes, either.

This was part of a more detailed explanation of an entire hidden community of wizards, witches, and all sorts of magical creatures who lived beneath the noses of what they called muggles, or non-magical people. Their ability to keep their society hidden for so long was something that surprised Harry. Surely, all it would take to reveal them would be one dissenting wizard who could book a space on a popular television show? As the saying went, three people could keep a secret, if two of them were dead; perhaps there was magic for that, too.

It did seem that the wizarding community could stand to learn a few things from muggles, as Hagrid seemed to exemplify many of their faults. He insisted on writing various letters to people not with a pen, or pencil, but with quills. Quills had long since been replaced in the muggle world for their remarkable inefficiency and being easy to break, but that didn't stop wizards from writing with them. Hagrid insisted that Harry would need his own quills for when he went to their school, Hogwarts. As for where one could find quills, Hagrid said that there was no better place then Diagon Alley, which was apparently located right in London.

The insistence that Harry _would_ be going to Hogwarts had made him feel a bit uneasy.

"What would happen if I refused going to Hogwarts?" he had asked.

Hagrid had frowned at that comment. "Yeh mean you aren't interested in learnin' about magic, Harry?"

"Well, hypothetically, let's say I did. What then?"

"Well, Harry, it's for the best that yeh learn to control yer magic. Otherwise, you might let it out in ways that could hurt someone."

That had been more than enough to convince Harry to follow Hagrid to go shopping for the things he needed. Harry could definitely go without accidentally setting people on fire whenever he got annoyed.

On the way to Diagon Alley, Hagrid went into the details of his parents. James and Lily Potter had been well liked among the wizarding community before being killed by one of the most evil wizards of all time, referred to by his moniker, "He Who Must Not Be Named."

"Was he so bad that you can't say his name?" Harry asked. "Is it cursed?"

"It's bad news, Harry, but I guess I could say it, since yeh haven't heard it before... all right, it's Voldemort." Hagrid shuddered. "Don't ask me to say it again."

Harry blinked. "Was he french? That sounds a bit like a french name."

Hagrid shook his head. "Naw, he was english, and went to Hogwarts like everyone else."

"So... he was born named Voldemort? Without a last name?"

"No, I suppose that wasn't really his name... yeh'd have t'ask Dumbledore about something like that."

Dumbledore was the current headmaster of Hogwarts, Hagrid explained, and one of the wisest wizards alive. He was one of the major figures in the resistance against Voldemort, a movement that had abruptly ended when Voldemort met an unexpected end on Halloween. After he had killed Harry's parents, the evil wizard had turned his attention to the infant Harry, only to die for an unknown reason, taking the house with him. It was a miracle that Harry hadn't been crushed by an errant chunk of the ceiling.

"So, yeh see Harry, you're famous!" Hagrid said. "Everyone in the wizardin' world knows yeh as the boy who lived!"

"Famous?" Harry muttered. "Do you think people would recognize me once we got there?"

Hagrid thought about it for a moment. "Well, Harry, since yeh haven't been in the company of wizards since yeh were born, they probably wouldn't, unless they say your scar."

Harry quickly checked to make sure that his distinctive scar was well covered up by his hair.

Hagrid laughed. "Modest?"

"Sure," Harry mumbled.

The actual truth wasn't really that he was modest, as Harry could see some ways in which fame could benefit him, but having a bunch of strangers heckling him in the streets certainly wasn't one of them.

The entrance to Diagon Alley was hidden in a pub called The Leaky Cauldron, an allegedly famous place that was harder to spot than a person in France who wasn't smoking. It was a dark, grimy little place that had certainly seen better days.

"Hey there, Hagrid," The barkeep said. "What brings you here today?"

"Hogwarts business, Tom," Hagrid said. "Can't tell you more then that."

They continued out the back, where their progress was blocked a brick wall, which Hagrid bypassed by tapping some of the bricks in an order that was quite easy to forget. That caused the wall to open up, showing an astonishing collection of shops lining a very narrow, crooked street. There was no doubt the place was magical, considering how many of the buildings blatantly defied the laws of physics. There were shops with side rooms that would have dragged them to the side, shops that wouldn't be able to support their own weight, and places that sold brooms meant for racing.

"The first thing we have to do is get some money from Gringotts the wizard bank," Hagrid said. "You'll need it for your school supplies."

As he said this, he handed a list to Harry, who examined it with a great deal of trepidation. Apparently, the school uniform for Hogwarts not only included robes, but a pointy hat! Why was that a part of the school uniform? Were these people nuts?

Harry had ample time to ponder that thought as he and Hagrid made their way to Gringotts; a large marble building that turned out to be staffed by-

"Goblins," Hagrid said. "A lotta wizards don't trust 'em, but I think that's a load of poppycock."

One such goblin was tasked with taking them to the Potter vault, and another vault for business that Hagrid refused to discuss.

Harry was surprised to see how much money there was in his parent's vault at first, but he began to worry when he thought about how much his school supplies would cost, and how quickly the money might go when he was looking for work and had to find a place to stay and pay rent... The amount of gold there looked like a fortune, but a nasty bit of inflation could take a large bite out of it with Harry being unable to do anything about it.

His fears were lessened somewhat when he saw the small amount Hagrid took to pay for his school items, though they did not abate entirely.

After Hagrid retrieved a small package from another vault, it was off to a clothes shop to get robes (and a hideous pointed hat). There were two other girls there engaged in a heated conversation as Harry entered the store. Presumably, they were going to Hogwarts as well, as Hagrid hadn't mentioned any other magic schools in the country.

"Now what I'm saying is that this whole business involving the forbidden forest is inexcusable," the first girl said. "You can't just send children out there and expect them to be okay! Do you know what some of the books say lives in that place?"

"Sounds like a coward's words to me, Cho," the second girl said. "Afraid of a few redcaps? Maybe if you spent more time reading the things you claimed to study-"

"I'm not making this stuff up! Do you not know that a student was arrested for having an acromantula on the grounds?!"

"An _acromantula_? Yeah right. If one of those was still there, the school would be shut down in an instant!"

"But that's what I'm saying! What if it's still there?"

"Listen to yourself..."

The conversation died down as the two exited the shop.

After Harry had gotten his robes and hat (which he decided then and there that he would not wear under any circumstances), he had a few more questions for Hagrid.

"What's an acromantula, Hagrid?"

Hagrid got a worried look on his face. "Why do you ask?"

"Some students in the shop mentioned the term."

"Well," Hagrid said, refusing to make eye contact with Harry, "They're a breed of giant spiders. But yeh won't have to worry about seein' any of them at Hogwarts."

Hagrid didn't look to happy to discuss the subject, so Harry didn't press him any further.

After his clothes, they moved on to the other things on the list, including several textbooks, a telescope and cauldron, some smelly potion ingredients, and a magic wand. The wand was supposedly the most important item of the bunch, being directly responsible for any wizard's ability to do magic. Wands in Diagon Alley were sold by a man named Ollivander, who was certainly a nut. After a bit of fussing around, Harry ended up with a wooden stick that was distinguished from the other wooden sticks by being ten inches long and having a base of unicorn hair, two characteristics that meant absolutely nothing to him. Perhaps one of the several textbooks he now owned could enlighten him on the subject.

After all their business was done, Hagrid was ready to leave, but Harry stopped him.

"While we're here Hagrid, I was hoping there was one more thing we could do," Harry said.

"What would that be?"

"Is there a place here where we could obtain fake muggle documents? I'd like something to give my aunt and uncle that makes them think that I'm going away to a muggle boarding school for the rest of my school years."

As a matter of fact, not only was there such a place, but it was perfectly legal for wizards to visit it (it was most commonly visited for faking passports for wizarding families that had no official contact with the muggle government), although Harry had to first talk Hagrid out of 'beating some sense' into the Dursleys. For the low price of two silver coins and four bronze coins, Harry walked away with a professional looking letter that marked his acceptance into St. Marble's Boarding School for Extremely Naughty Boys. If his aunt and uncle did any research at all into the 'school', they would easily find out that it was fake, but Harry doubted that they would dare risk missing out on the opportunity to have him out of their hair for however many years it took to graduate from Hogwarts.

* * *

After doing his chores for the night, Harry carefully approached Uncle Vernon, who was in the middle of one of his favorite television shows. He made sure to wait for a commercial break before speaking up.

"Uncle Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon turned his fat head around to look at Harry. "What is it?"

"If you're not busy, I just got a letter of acceptance from this school-"

Vernon got up and snatched the letter from Harry's hand. Upon reading its contents, his face lit up with glee.

"So, this school, they'll keep you for most of the year, and we don't have to pay anything?"

"Absolutely," Harry said. "All you need to do is sign there-"

Vernon got up with an uncharacteristic burst of speed and rushed for a pen, and signed the letter in a few seconds.

"Thank you," Harry said.

Only then did he risk bringing in all the stuff he had bought at Diagon Alley.


	3. Insertion Sort

Having a few weeks before term started gave Harry plenty of time to read his textbooks on magic. Although Hagrid insisted that he was not to use magic outside of school, there was still plenty to learn just by reading his textbooks.

One of the few things that Harry was any good at was reading. It would annoy his teachers to no end when he would be several chapters ahead of the class in whatever book they had been assigned for the year, as he would occasionally end up spoiling what would happen next. So it was with great interest that he dug into his textbooks in his cupboard, where the Dursleys wouldn't bother him.

Transfiguration was defined as the area of magic focused on changing the properties of physical objects. Although it looked to have a large number of practical applications, the work needed for even the simplest of transformations looked to be very difficult and complicated. There were a very rigorous set of motions to be preformed with the wand, and a great deal of mental concentration was needed as well.

Potions, by contrast, looked to be quite easy. It was simply a matter of following a recipe, just like cooking. Harry had done enough cooking for the Dursleys to become adept enough at following recipes, although it didn't seem like any potion could be improved by adding a few extra garlic cloves. Harry had to wonder why it was a mandatory magical class when it seemed as if even a muggle could do it, given the proper ingredients. He probably would have tried brewing a couple of the simpler potions at the Dursleys, if he had spare ingredients.

Charms was a hodgepodge of many different spells that did all sorts of things. From levitating objects to cleaning dishes, it seemed that there was a charm made for any specific task you could think of. Performing the charms did not seem very hard either, as they only asked for an incantation and a wand motion. Harry already saw a use for a simple locking and unlocking charm in the near future, should anyone try to steal his belongings.

Herbology was essentially a form of magical botany, made more dangerous by many of the magical plants being lethal in a variety of ways. Harry had never been keen on getting his hands dirty, and the plants he would be dealing with in the future were the kinds of things he would much rather observe in a nature documentary. It made him wonder why such a specialized class would be mandatory for all new students.

Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed like a misnomer, for Harry's book on the subject seemed more akin to magic pest control. It described in detail how to deal with nuisances such as redcaps, gnomes, and other small creatures using a collection of minor jinxes, hexes, and curses (Harry had no idea what the differences between the three were, if the terms weren't equivalent). It wasn't clear on where the 'Dark Arts' fit into the whole picture, although Harry didn't particularly care about them anyway.

The inclusion of Astronomy was particularly baffling, as it apparently had nothing to do with magic whatsoever. Even wizards seemed to be able to fit in useless classes in their public schools, it seemed.

Last but not least was History of Magic, the class that intrigued Harry the most. The history of a secret society that had successfully hidden itself away for thousands of years was a story that was most definitely worth reading. It was thus the case that he spent by far the most time of those weeks before term buried within Bathilda Bagshot's "A History of Magic", starting from the very beginning of recorded magical history. It was all fascinating stuff, dealing with the invention of wands, the great sorcerers of Rome, the creation of House Elves, the lost secrets of Thaumaturgy, the near death of wizarding societies in Europe during the days of the inquisition, and so many other things. Harry hoped that the class offered at the school was just as interesting as the book was.

With so many new things to occupy his time, the day in which Harry was due to leave for Hogwarts approached as quickly as a jet plane wearing rockets as skis. Going to Hogwarts proved to be a bit of a tricky task, however. Hagrid had given Harry a ticket for a train that was allegedly at King's Cross station, at platform 9 and three quarters. The problem being, of course, that the said platform did not seem to exist.

So, with his train due to depart at eleven o'clock, Harry made sure to get to the station at nine (with a ride graciously provided by Uncle Vernon), giving hem plenty of time to skulk around the station to hopefully find an answer to his predicament.

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long to find out how to find the platform. Hanging around platforms nine and ten, he noticed several other people who were obviously wizards, as their silly clothes gave them away. Watching them closely, he saw several families drawing very close to one of the pillars before vanishing.

Going up to the pillar, he patted it with his hand, only to discover that one of the sides was some sort of illusion, for his hand passed right through it. For an anti muggle precaution, it could certainly have used some work, as there was nothing stopping someone from doing what Harry had done and discovering the illusion, but that wasn't his problem. Walking through the false barrier, he emerged on another platform where a scarlet train stood, labeled The Hogwarts Express. Since he had arrived rather early, there weren't many other families there, which meant that most of the compartments on the train would be empty, giving him the pick of whatever spot he wanted.

In Harry's case, that would be a place where other people were least likely to sit, as he generally preferred to be alone. So, as soon as he had lifted his heavy trunk into the train, he went straight to the back and sat in an empty compartment. After he closed the door, he wondered if he would get in trouble for locking it as well, but decided it wasn't worth the risk. Then, he brought out his copy of "A History of Magic", and began reading from where he had last stopped.

After a while, there was a lurch as the train began to move, before picking up speed as it headed north into the countryside. Someone passed by his compartment to check his ticket, but other then that, Harry was left alone for quite a while. That is, until someone else showed up.

The door was opened by a girl with very bushy hair, looking inexplicably pleased with herself.

"Have you seen a toad anywhere?" she asked.

"No," Harry said.

"That's a shame. You see, Neville's lost his toad. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, and this whole concept of magic is just so fascinating to me..."

Harry stopped paying attention as she began to ramble on about a bunch of different things that he did not care in the slightest about.

"... which is why I've been practicing so much. Well, please tell me if you've seen a toad," she finished.

"Sure," Harry lied.

Thankfully, the girl didn't feel the need to bother him any longer, and headed off to continue her quest for the missing toad.

Shortly afterwards, a lunch trolley rolled by, containing all sorts of snacks. It made Harry regret not bringing any money or food on the train, although he wasn't very into sweets. He had had one too many cavities to enjoy them any more.

After a long trip through the countryside, the train eventually approached a castle, which was difficult to spot in the night sky. Figuring that it must be Hogwarts, Harry put his robes on (but not the stupid pointy hat, of course). Once the train stopped, he quickly got out of the train, where he saw Hagrid calling over all the first years.

It turned out that to get to the castle, the first years took a fleet of small boats across a lake. Harry took a boat at the edge of the docks, hoping that someone wouldn't join him. This time he wasn't so lucky, as another bleary eyed kid ended up beside him. Fortunately, the student didn't feel much like talking, which was a relief to Harry, who wasn't interested in talking either.

The boats had been enchanted to move without being rowed, and glided smoothly across the lake to one side of the castle. There, they exited the boats, and were shepherded by Hagrid to a stern looking woman.

"You can leave them to me, Hagrid," the woman said.

The woman introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, and explained that they would be sorted into different 'Houses'. This was done through the use of some kind of magical hat, which would analyze their personality and distribute the students as it saw fit.

Harry didn't know anything about the different houses (in fact, he hadn't even gotten far enough into "A History of Magic" to when Hogwarts had been founded), and was left not caring much for which House he would end up in.

Then they were led into a very large room, which Harry assumed was the dining hall. All of the older students had already arrived and sat down at four different tables, while the staff was collected at the end of the room with their own table. The ceiling had been enchanted to resemble the night sky, which Harry didn't particularly care for, as it left part of his mind thinking that he was outside, and on the watch for mosquitoes.

Fortunately, the hat itself was prepared for students ill versed in Hogwarts lore, and provided a song detailing each of the Houses, each based on a founder of Hogwarts. However, the qualities for each House seemed rather vague, and none of them had Harry especially interested.

Then the sorting began, as names were called and students walked up to put the hat on their head. The insistence on yelling the student's names in front of the entire school annoyed Harry, as whatever House he ended up in would know all about his famous history and would want to constantly bother him about it... though it was inevitable that people would find out about it, he supposed.

Sure enough, when his name was finally called, the whispering and murmuring in the hall instantly quieted down. Gritting his teeth, Harry strode over to the hat as quickly as he could without looking odd. Barely a second after he put the hat on his head, it shouted, "RAVENCLAW!"

That announcement got the entire Ravenclaw table to erupt in cheering, as if they were really so very elated to have a kid whose claim to fame was not being killed by some dark wizard for some stupid reason.

There were a few names to be sorted, after which the oldest member of the staff (Dumbledore, perhaps?) gave a short speech about the forest outside Hogwarts being dangerous, and a corridor on the third floor also being dangerous. After that, a bunch of food magically appeared on the formerly empty plates on the table. Being quite hungry, Harry was quick to pile a bunch of mashed potatoes on his plate. Sadly, he could not escape the prying minds of his fellow classmates.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" a boy asked.

"Yeah-" Harry said, but was cut off.

"I remember you from Madam Malkin's!" a different girl said.

"Can we see your scar?"

"No," Harry said.

"Do you remember what You-Know-Who was like?"

"No."

Fortunately, the Ravenclaw students quickly figured out that Harry's curt answers and refusal to make eye contact with them meant that he wasn't interested in talking to them, so they disappointedly returned to talking amongst themselves.

After dinner, there was dessert, which Harry skipped out on, and then they were escorted to their dormitories by a prefect whose name Harry couldn't hear over the hustling and bustling of the crowds. The Ravenclaw students were led to the aptly named Ravenclaw tower, which could only be entered by answering a riddle, which changed every month. The prefect only hastily explained the answer before letting them in.

Harry was somewhat disappointed with his new living space. While it was more open and definitely better furnished then the cupboard he used to live in, it was openly shared with all the other students, which he did not care for at all. He would have preferred to have been given his own small room, along with all the other students, but he supposed that beggars could not be choosers.


	4. Fun Times With Broomsticks

As it turned out, Hogwarts was much bigger than it really needed to be. Despite holding the majority of the children of wizarding Britain, it only needed one teacher and a few classrooms for each subject, leaving many other rooms perennially unused. Its massive size did making getting around the place a task in itself, compounded by the castle itself being designed to mess with the students in several ways. Whether it was trick staircases, maze like hallways that folded in on themselves, or the antics of the resident poltergeist, it made each trip around the castle memorable, for the wrong reasons.

It left Harry rather wanting for a map of the school, but the only existing ones were in the library and both centuries old and incredibly innacurate. Apparently, getting to know your way around the place was some kind of rite of passage. He could even imagine that old fellow giving a speech about how it builds character! What nonsense.

As for the classes, themselves, they turned out to be taught by a collection of professors that were definitely... interesting, to say the least.

The man who taught potions was a certain Professor Snape, recognizable by his oddly shaped nose and pompous black cloak. For some reason, he seemed to have sort of grudge against Harry, as he made evident in the first day of class.

After reading through the list of the students he was teaching (making an offhand remark about Harry as being their 'new celebrity'), he gave a long, flowery speech about the arts of potion making, before deciding to give Harry a random pop quiz.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, Potter?" he snapped.

Harry took a moment to recall the answer from his potions textbook, although he hadn't recalled it being under the typical first year material, due to how dangerous the potion could be.

"The Draught of Living Death, sir?" Harry said.

Snape did not change his expression.

"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfbane?"

The answer to that question proved quite easier, as the herbology textbook had been quite insistent on informing new students about that particular misconception.

"I don't believe there is one, sir."

Snape frowned.

"And where, Potter, would I find a bezoar?"

That had Harry stumped. While he had seen bezoars mentioned under the list of antidotes, the potions book hadn't been very clear on what they were or where they could be found.

"I don't know, sir."

Snape made a great deal out of showing his displeasure to the class.

"Thought you might be studying ahead, Potter? Well, it clearly wasn't enough. Now, today we will be covering a basic antidote..."

Snape split the class into pairs, which Harry found annoying, as it seemed that something as delicate as potion making should have been better suited as an individual task (and also because it forced him to interact with other students). Fortunately, the Ravenclaw student he was paired with was content with deferring to his judgement, as he hadn't been as busy reading over the summer. Under Harry's guidance, they managed to produce a boil curing potion that was, to Snape's visible disappointment, rather well made.

Well, if the man wanted to hate Harry, he could do so. Harry wasn't going to let that stop him from learning.

Charms also proved to be a bit of a strange experience. That was due partly from it being taught by a ridiculously small man named Flitwick, and also due to one of the students feeling the need to formally introduce himself to Harry before the class started.

"Hello," a pale blond boy flanked by two overgrown pugs. "My name is Draco Malfoy. I think it would be good for you, Potter, to be acquainted with some of the better families around here."

"Sure," Harry said absentmindedly, and returned to staring at his desk.

Malfoy did not seem to enjoy being ignored. "Well, you should know my father has a lot of influence in the ministry, Potter. You should keep that in mind."

"Whatever."

Malfoy scowled and went back to his seat.

When Professor Flitwick arrived, he seemed quite excited to be teaching Harry Potter (which, _again_ , led to a bunch of stares). He also went into the basics of charms, taking particular care to inform them that their pronunciation of the incantation was critical. Going over one of the basic movement charms Flitwick taught them, Harry discovered that he was saying it wrong, as how it was supposed to be said differed quite a bit from how it was written. That would certainly make the subject quite a bit more difficult...

History of Magic turned out to be quite disappointing. The professor turned out to be a ghost, of all things, and made the fascinating subject incredibly dull through his constantly pallid droning. After the first few classes, Harry gave up on listening to him and instead continued reading his history book through class.

Defense Against the Dark Arts also turned out to be a bit of a sham. Professor Quirrell, a man who could not stop stuttering, was much more interested in babbling about his own experiences with vampires than he was in actually teaching his students anything. That was another class where Harry stuck to his book, although he doubted he would be using any of the spells he learned there very much.

Transfiguration and Herbology both turned out to be difficult classes, each for different reasons. Working in the greenhouses meant that Harry had to constantly overcome his squeamishness over interacting with plants in the dirt, and things that also lived in the dirt, including a large variety of magical worms. For once he was glad to work in a group, as most of the other students were quite happy to get their hands dirty, even if it meant they ended up doing most of the work.

Transfiguration, by contrast, was a subject that was simply hard for everyone. The basic task of transforming a wooden stick into a pin asked for very sharp, precise wand work, and an acute understanding of how the magic worked on the wood. By the end of the first class, Harry had only managed to give his matchstick a slight silver tint. Undoubtedly he would need to practice quite a bit more to get the magic to work.

Astronomy was so uninteresting that there was nothing to say about it.

What held the interest of most of the other students was a flying lesson, which was mandatory for all of the first years. Wizards, it seemed, were not content to fly merely on their own magical power, but had to enchant something as uncomfortable to sit on as a broom to ride on instead. This was part of their favorite sport, which involved brooms, hoops, and several weighted balls. Harry did not care at all about sports, and was content to sit out whenever the latest 'Quidditch' match happened, to the chagrin of many of his classmates. Nor was he especially interested in flying, as he had a healthy fear of heights, as he was reminded of whenever he climbed some of the more open staircases in the tall castle.

So, it was with much trepidation that he joined the other first years on the pitch, where many brooms had been laid out for them. From there, they were instructed to summon their brooms from the group (which seemed pointless, since there was nothing stopping them from just picking them up). Harry's broom, as if it could sense his fear, took a great deal of coaxing before it reluctantly hopped into his hand.

After the students had their brooms, they would have moved on to actually flying, if one kid hadn't managed to end up riding his broom straight into the air before falling off of it and breaking something that sounded important. Though he would later end up making a full recovery, that put a severe dent into Harry's already thin trust of the brooms.

In the meantime, the Malfoy kid and some red headed boy were arguing about something. It got so heated that they ended up trading spells at each other until the teacher returned from bringing the injured kid to the hospital wing. After making sure to loudly chew the both of them out, they were both given detentions, and the actual flying part of the class could begin.

Given instructions to mount the broom and kick off from the ground, Harry managed to rise into the air, only to notice that the broom's acceleration seemed to be tied to how he held it. Unfortunately, he noticed this too late to slow himself down enough to avoid crashing into a tree.

After that, he refused to try and fly the broom again, and sat comfortably on the ground until the class was over. There would later be rumors that certain prominent members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team were disappointed to hear that the famous Boy Who Lived was no good on a broomstick, but Harry didn't care.


	5. Holiday Surprises

In the weeks that followed, Harry had began to acquire a reputation for himself. To the other students, he had become _that_ kid. That kid who only had one word answers for questions and never wanted to talk to anyone, even to people from his own House. That kid who was always in a hurry to eat his food so he could leave and go back to the library. That kid who didn't have any friends and rebuffed anyone trying to be friendly with him. That kid who always wanted to be left alone.

Having such a reputation was something that definitely benefited Harry, as it meant that less people would bother him when he was trying to read. He had developed a similar standing in the muggle schools he had been to, although it had been more effective when he was just a student instead of the Boy Who Lived.

On the other hand, none of the schools Harry had been to had nearly the selection of titles as the library of Hogwarts did. When he had finished "A History of Magic", he moved on to more focused books, covering topics in a more in depth manner. One area Harry was particularly interested in researching was the exact reason for Voldemort's death; however, none of the books covering the "First Wizarding War" had any reliable answer for just what had happened at Godric's Hollow. There were rumors, of course, but they were all rather insubstantial. The most common one was Albus Dumbledore's assertion that it had been Lily Potter's loving sacrifice for her son that caused Voldemort's curse to rebound upon himself. It was such an absurdly sentimental answer that it made Harry wonder if Dumbledore was suffering from some form of dementia.

Perhaps it was a rather morbid joke.

While spending all of his time skulking around in the library or in deserted parts of the castle where he was unlikely to be found did have its perks, there were also the occasional downsides. One example of this occurred on Halloween night, after Harry had left the feast. When he had returned to one of his favorite corridors for reading, he noticed a disgusting smell in the air. Ignoring it, he continued reading about the sagas of Harun ar-Rashid and his court of magicians. Then he stopped reading, when he heard footsteps. Quiet footsteps, at first, that steadily grew to become thunderous, inhuman footsteps.

Glancing around the corridor, Harry suddenly noticed a large, hideous creature lumbering towards him. Harry didn't know what it was, but he did know that if his defense textbook hadn't given him information on how to deal with it, then it was clearly way out of his league.

That left him with two options: staying still, or running. While running did feel like the better option, Harry had done enough reading on certain animals to know that the animal kingdom was chock full of large creatures that could move very fast when they needed to. No, he figured, it would be better to just hope it continued to not notice him. Most animals eyes were heavily attuned to movement, after all.

Thankfully, the creature must have had very poor eyesight, and continued straight past him without stopping.

(Later, Harry would find out that the creature was a troll whose presence in the dungeons had been announced during the Halloween feast, after he had left. Knowing that would have saved him quite a bit of trouble!)

Aside from that incident, however, life at Hogwarts turned out to be quite normal, for a school that taught magic. Harry quickly settled into a routine of barely passing by Transfiguration, excelling in Potions, and reading. It did bother some of the teachers when they saw he wasn't making friends, but Harry didn't care much about that.

And so, the seasons passed, with the trees shedding their leaves, and snow falling by the truckloads, until the entire castle was draped in white. This made the basic fire charm, _Incendio_ , quite useful for clearing a path when Harry had to go to the greenhouses. Even when it wasn't called for, Harry still quite liked the spell for being rather pretty to observe. Fire was one of those things that was always beautiful to watch.

When Christmas break approached, many of the students wanted to return to their homes for the holidays. Harry, of course, elected to stay at Hogwarts, and wondered if he couldn't arrange to stay there over the summer as well. The Dursleys wouldn't miss him, and he would have all summer to lounge around reading and messing around with magic... he made a mental note to himself to visit the headmaster at some point.

* * *

When Christmas day arrived, Harry was quite surprised to see that he had received a present. He certainly wasn't expecting anything from the Dursleys; even if he had given them a functioning muggle address for Hogwarts, which he doubted existed, he probably wouldn't have received anything anyway. He didn't have any friends in the magical world either, for that matter. Who could have sent him the present?

The tag that came with it raised more questions then it answered. Apparently, the gift had originally belonged to Harry's father, before it was borrowed by... someone, who had decided to give it back to him. It also implored him to 'use it well'; a strange thing to be telling an eleven year old, for sure.

Opening the present, he found a cloak. A magical cloak, to be precise, as it made whatever it covered on one side of it invisible. It was definitely an interesting tool. Already, Harry could see it being useful for letting him stay hidden in the library. That way, no one would bother him while he was reading...

He had to wonder about what the person who had given it to him expected him to do with it, though. Were they worried that he would be using it to sneak around at night?

That wasn't something he was going to do if he could help it. Harry never cared for breaking rules, after all.


	6. Voldemort Makes A Mistake

The spring months at Hogwarts proved to be little different from the fall.

Professor Snape, who had been carefully monitoring Harry for any mistakes he could capitalize on, had finally given up believing that Harry's talent in Potions was not legitimate, and apparently settled for taking out his frustrations on some of the clumsier Gryffindors.

Transfiguration, however, hadn't gotten any easier for Harry. He had grown weary of how McGonagall expected them to be able to transform watches into stones and back without losing some of the bits of machinery along the way. He wondered if he would manage to pass the final exam for the class at all. Hopefully, if he didn't, he wouldn't need to rely on a high grade in the class for whatever career he ended up taking.

While Harry spend all of his days indoors, there were strange rumors of what was going on in the Forbidden Forest. Some students claimed to have seen a dragon, of all things, wandering around the grounds. Although Harry wouldn't have put much stock into such tales, the wizarding government did not share his view, and sent in some trained dragon handlers to investigate. It turned out that there was indeed a dragon there, albeit a very young one. No one was quite sure about how it had ended up on the grounds, and it was sent somewhere else to be watched over by wizards whose job it was to corral dragons. If there was one profession Harry was sure to avoid in life, it was that one.

When it came time for exams, Harry felt little need to study for anything that wasn't Transfiguration. Most of the tests he had taken in his other classes had proven to be easy enough. That assumption turned to be correct, as most of the tests were incredibly easy. Whether it was simply performing a hover charm for Flitwick, answering the most obvious questions about when famous goblin rebellions occurred, or following the directions to the letter to make an effective potion, it was obvious that the exams were meant for first years to succeed at even if they hadn't been paying attention for the whole term. Even Transfiguration was manageable, as they were given the noticeably less taxing task of changing the colors of various different tea cups.

With that, it seemed that there would be little else to see at Hogwarts. That, of course, meant that it was the perfect time for something unexpected to happen.

Professor Quirrell, for some reason, had taken it upon himself one night to venture into the corridor on the third floor that was warned to be full of perilous danger. Apparently, that wasn't the case, as Quirrell had made it past whatever the danger was without injury to himself. When he had gotten to the end of the corridor, he had found a magical mirror of some sort. Dumbledore had caught him trying to destroy the mirror; however, Quirrell had mysteriously died before he could be questioned about what he was doing. An autopsy revealed that he had been possessed by some creature, and had been drinking unicorn blood to sustain himself.

It seemed an odd way to go for such a batty man, but Harry didn't care enough about it to question it.

* * *

It was one of the late days of spring, right before Harry was due to return on the Hogwarts Express, that Harry decided to visit Dumbledore to see if he couldn't adjust his living arrangements.

Dumbledore's office was nearly as eccentric as the man himself. Guarded by two gargoyles who wanted a password that turned out to be a type of candy, the interior was covered with all sorts of strange instruments and objects whose purposes Harry could not guess at. A large red bird sat contentedly on a perch, occasionally chirping the odd note or two.

"You wanted to see me, Harry?" Dumbledore said, getting up from one of his many desks, which was swamped with all sorts of letters and documents.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I did have a few questions I wanted to ask you, sir."

"Fire away, Harry."

"I don't suppose there could be some way that I could stay here over the summer, is there?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid there isn't, Harry. As things stand, you will have to return to the Dursleys in the summer."

"Okay. And another thing... why did you say that it was my mother's love that saved me from Voldemort? What sense does that make?"

Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles, with an amused expression on his face. "You've already read what the history books have to say about it, I presume?"

"Yeah...?"

"The most interesting thing about history, I've found," Dumbledore said, "Is that we only seem to understand it if we haven't lived though it. Why, I still don't understand how it is that I won my famous duel with Gellert Grindelwald, even though Bathilda Bagshot claims to have on record the exact list of spells that I performed."

"I guess," Harry said.

"We all have our guesses about the world," Dumbledore said, briefly glancing at a picture of Quirrell on his desk. "However, what I know about what happened on one certain Halloween night involving you, your parents, and one dark wizard is anything but. You see, the spell Voldemort mainly used to kill his victims is one that cannot be blocked by any normal magical barrier. There is overwhelming evidence that your parents did not have access to their wands that night, Harry, and Voldemort would have had no reason not to use his favorite curse. Thus, the barrier that did block his attempt to kill you was, indeed, not normal magic."

"So, you're saying love is magical?"

"Precisely, Harry. It is a very old form of magic, not one that you could study normally... The power of a mother sacrificing herself for her child gave you an abnormal sort of magical protection, one that Voldemort could not break. Trying to destroyed him."

"Are you absolutely sure that's what happened?" Harry asked, remaining skeptical.

Dumbledore blinked. "Well, unless you think that Voldemort killed himself after murdering your parents, or cast a spell that was so imprecise that it ended up killing him and not yourself..."

"I get what you're saying." Harry said. "I just find that your explanation... stretches credibility, I guess."

"If you were as old as I am, Harry," Dumbledore said amusedly, "You would find that there are so many things that stretch your credibility that it would most certainly break."

"Well, I'll take your word for it."


	7. Summer Nuisances

The first part of the summer proved to be a rather uninteresting experience. Without a list of what new books Harry had to buy, and without a huge library to browse, there just wasn't much to do.

The Dursleys had spent a small portion of their time each day calculating how much money they were saving by having Harry away at a boarding school. When the total came in, they were quite pleased with Harry's choice of education, and might have even felt some gratitude.

That was Harry's guess as to why they had offered him Dudley's old bedroom to stay in during the summer. It was better than his old cupboard, as it had no spiders infesting it, and the bed was much nicer. The only thing it was missing was a television, really.

Apart from that, there was little for Harry to do besides his chores. Nobody sent him mail, he couldn't practice any magic, and he didn't have any spare ingredients to make potions with, nor did he have any pressing need for any potions.

Things got more interesting with the arrival of the list of Harry's required textbooks, late in August. Aside from the standard books of spell and potions he was going to learn for the year, Harry was intrigued by the many novels written by a certain Gilderoy Lockhart that were also on the list. The name was not completely unfamiliar to Harry, as he had seen it pop up a couple times in modern history books, but he couldn't see why so many of his autobiographies were required reading. Perhaps the people at Flourish and Blott's would have a better idea of what was going on.

As it turned out, there was indeed someone who could inform Harry about the many autobiographies of Gilderoy Lockhart at the bookstore. Indeed, it was none other than the man himself!

It was obvious that the man in the front of Flourish and Blott's could be none other than Mr. Lockhart, for there were a bunch of banners laid all over the place that announced his presence there. It seemed that he had given up on his adventurous ways to take up a position teaching at Hogwarts... or something along those lines. He had also taken the opportunity to promote his many books by having a live autographing session in the bookstore, that was attended by a large number of women, and even a few photographers. He was sitting at a table, with an insufferable grin on his face.

"Good afternoon, friends!" Lockhart said. "Looking forward to your chance to meet the new Professor Lockhart? Just step right up..."

Harry got in line behind a bushy haired girl who couldn't seem to hold her excitement in.

"Now, if the next person would please step forward..."

It took a few minutes for Lockhart to sign everyone else's autographs, and to answer their often sentimental questions.

"Next, please," Lockhart said, sending the bushy haired girl away with a giddy smile on her face.

"Another student?" Lockhart said as Harry stepped forward. "Why, my teaching position is already paying off in spades! What do you want me to sign for you, young man?"

"Nothing," Harry said. "I just had a couple questions."

"Well, ask away, dear fellow!"

"Well, I was wondering why several of your autobiographies were on the required reading list, sir."

Lockhart's smile faded a little bit.

"Ah, you mean these?" he said, gesturing to a stack of books on the table. "Well, you know, they're, ah, _indispensable_ , for the kind of things I'm teaching."

"What is it that you're teaching at Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, of course!"

"And what do these books of yours have to do with that?"

Lockhart suddenly glanced at his watch.

"I'm afraid I don't have any more time for you, lad," Lockhart said hurriedly. "Next, please!"

"But-"

"Next!"

Harry grudgingly stepped away from Lockhart's photo shoot, and decided that it was better to not spend his money on Lockhart's books.

* * *

The day on which Harry would depart for Hogwarts once again grew ever close as August drew to an end. With little else to do, he busied himself by reading up on the required course material, which didn't look to be especially different from last year's. One night, however, brought an unexpected visitor.

After Harry had finished eating dinner, he went upstairs to his new room, only to find a strange, tiny creature covered in rags staring at him.

"Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts!" it said.

"What?" Harry said, quickly moving to close the door before the Dursleys had a chance to hear it.

"He mustn't!" the creature said. "There is grave danger there!"

"What are you, and why are you in my home?" Harry asked, looking for his wand.

"It is Dobby, sir, a house elf! Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter of a great danger!"

So that was what a house elf looked like. Harry had read the sordid tales about the servant race of wizards, but he had never actually seen one before.

"Danger? What kind of danger?"

"Dobby cannot say, sir! Dobby has been forbidden to talk about it!"

Harry frowned. "If you're not allowed to talk about it, then why are you telling me that it exists at all?"

Dobby froze for a moment, then made to beat his head against the wall, with Harry barely being able to restrain him.

"Bad... bad... bad..." Dobby muttered, beating his fists against the floor.

Harry sighed. "Just forget you said anything, alright?"

"Bad... bad..."

"Well, you shouldn't worry too much about it, Dobby. I'll be sure to stay out of trouble."

Dobby snapped out of his minor stupor, staring straight at Harry again. "You can't! If you goes to Hogwarts, you will die!"

"I really doubt it. Hogwarts is a perfectly safe place, as long as you don't go looking for trouble."

Dobby ignored him. "If Harry Potter insists on going... then Dobby won't let him!"

Harry frowned. Although Dobby didn't look like much of a threat, there was a whole different breed of magic that house elves were privy to, and he didn't want to mess with that. Nor did he want to stay home instead of going to Hogwarts. Whatever danger Dobby was talking about was probably something in the Forbidden Forest, and he wasn't stupid enough to go wandering around in there.

That left the question of how he was going to get rid of the troublesome fellow. He could try and find out whatever family he was working for, but it didn't seem likely that Dobby would willing divulge that information. The Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum didn't mention any way of dealing with house elves, either. So, what would be the ideal way of getting rid of one?

An idea suddenly came to Harry's mind, as he remembered the details of the working conditions for house elves.

"You know what, Dobby?" Harry said. "I've changed my mind. What you're doing is a great service for me. And for that", he said, pulling a knut from his pocket, "I would like to pay you for it."

A look of complete horror engulfed Dobby's face. "No," he whispered.

"You're right," Harry said. "One knut isn't enough. How does a galleon sound?"

"NO!" Dobby screamed. "Dobby is sorry! Dobby won't be bothering you again!"

And with a loud crack, Dobby vanished.

Harry put the money back into his pockets and laid down on the bed. Although it was good to know that he would be going to Hogwarts unhindered, it was still sad to see a creature so afraid of repayment that it would flee from it.

Not that he thought he could do anything about it, of course.


	8. The World's Worst Notebook

As Harry walked to platforms nine and ten, he hoped that his trip on the Hogwarts Express would be as quiet and uneventful as it was last year. This time, however, that turned out to not be the case.

After once again retiring to the back of the train, Harry settled in for what he hoped would be another quiet few hours of reading. After half an hour had passed, someone apparently had felt the sudden urge to pester him, as they opened his compartment door with a gleeful grin on their face. It was the pale blond boy who took social interactions incredibly seriously, despite being no older than twelve. This time, he had forgotten to bring his ugly twin friends, for whatever reason.

"Hello there, Potter," the boy said. "I hope you've taken my words to heart since the last time I talked to you. Surely, you understand the importance of being well connected in this day and age?"

"Sure," Harry said. Truth be told, he could barely remember what the boy had said to him in a Charms class a year ago, or even his name, but he hoped that pretending otherwise would make him go away faster.

The boy didn't look convinced. "Well, Potter, you may have spurned the Malfoys once before, but I'll give you another chance to prove yourself worthy. Take this as a token of an alliance."

Malfoy (Harry assumed that was his name) tossed a rather shabby looking book at him, which he failed to catch.

"What's this?" Harry asked, only to notice that Malfoy had already left.

Harry flipped through the book, only to notice that it was completely blank. That was strange (for it did appear to have the physical appearance of a published novel), almost as strange as the circumstances in which he had received it, but he wasn't going to say no to a free notebook. That would save him a couple knuts from having to buy another one for the next year.

After that incident, Harry hoped that he would be left alone, but it was not to be.

Another visitor to his compartment appeared, this time in the form of a little red haired girl, who looked extremely nervous.

"You... don't mind if I, uh, sit here? Everywhere else is full," she said.

Harry doubted that _all_ the other compartments were full, nor did he particularly want her there, but even he knew that it would be rather rude to say so.

"No," Harry said.

Thankfully, perhaps owing to her own fears, the girl didn't speak much beyond that. The other student who felt the need to bother Harry sure did, though.

"Hey there!" a young boy said, peeking into the compartment. "You wouldn't happen to be Harry Potter, would you?"

"I guess-" Harry said, but was cut off when the bright flash of a camera filled the room.

"Oh, I don't think that one turned out very well," the boy said. "You were blinking. I'm Colin Creevey, by the way."

"Charmed," Harry said with as much venom as he could muster.

Creevey failed to pick up on the obvious cue. "Would you be up for another picture? I'd also like you're autograph, if you don't mind. Or maybe-"

"I'll pass, thanks."

"Are you sure? Because I think that-"

"I'm sure," Harry growled.

Creevey looked disappointed. "Oh. Well, if you ever change your mind, feel free to talk to me about it. What House are you in, by the way?"

"This one."

Creevey blinked. "No, I mean your Hogwarts House."

Harry paused for a moment. "You know what?" he said. "I think I dropped a photograph of myself somewhere on the train. If you can go and find it for me, I'll autograph it."

Creevey grinned "Right away, sir!" He then rushed away from the compartment.

There wasn't any such photograph, of course, but the thought that there _might_ be one was enough to keep the idiot away from Harry for the rest of the train ride. That meant a journey that was mostly silent, although the girl sitting by him would occasionally pipe up with a question about the weather, or something equally irrelevant.

When the train finally arrived at Hogwarts, Harry made sure that Hagrid had rounded off Creevey before getting off the train. The red haired girl also went with them, apparently being too nervous to even say goodbye. Not that Harry cared about that, of course.

Instead of riding on Hagrid's fleet of boats, the other students were directed to ride a fleet of small carriages. They did not appear to be drawn by any animal, but rather seemed to be propelled by some kind of magic. A neat invention.

Waiting in the Great Hall for the other students to be sorted brought an extra area of annoyance to the ceremonies preceding dinner. Although Harry had made sure to bring a bit of money on the train this time, so he could grab something from the dining car, he still didn't like to wait for something as ultimately trivial as sorting to eat.

The Sorting was something Harry paid little attention to, although he was pleased to note that Colin Creevey was placed in Gryffindor. That meant he would be safe from being bothered by the moron in the Ravenclaw common room. Now, all he needed was a way to avoid him when he was walking around the castle as well. That sounded like a good use for his invisibility cloak, which had been gathering dust in his trunk the whole summer...

After that, there was Dumbledore's usual list of announcements, about the Forbidden Forest, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and Filch's list of prohibited objects (the spiel about the third floor corridor was strangely absent). And then they could finally eat. Harry stuck with the roast and mashed potatoes, although he did try some of the asparagus. Really, though, one could rarely go wrong with potatoes. They were to the culinary world what bricks were to housing.

* * *

Harry decided he would use the book Malfoy had generously donated to him for this year, and save his new notebook for the next year. Upon scribbling his first paragraph into it in Transfiguration, he ran into a problem. The words he had written sank into the page, and new, different words rose up to replace them.

 _This diary is the property of T. M. Riddle._

They disappeared as soon as Harry had finished reading them. Perplexed, Harry tried writing what he had written before, only to see the words disappear again. The book's response to them, however, had changed.

 _Hello. My name is Tom Riddle. Who might you be, person is writing into my diary?_

Annoyed, Harry scribbled a response.

 _So this "diary" I'm writing in is magical, huh?_

"Tom Riddle" was quick to reply.

 _It is. A simple form of magic, really, just to keep a memory in it. In it are some of the most important memories of my life._

Harry rolled his eyes.

 _I don't suppose you could use a bit of magic to let me write down my Transfiguration notes, instead of making them disappear?_

Riddle dodged the question.

 _Transfiguration? That sounds interesting. I take it that you're a student at Hogwarts? Why not tell me a bit more about yourself?_

Scowling, Harry closed the diary and put it in his bag. The thing was completely useless! Malfoy had probably given it to him just to make him angry. And he was quite annoyed, since he now wouldn't have any notes for the first day of Transfiguration, a class where he desperately needed them. What a sham.

* * *

The spirit of Tom Riddle was also incredibly frustrated. When it had found itself in the possession of a student, it tried to possess it by planting a bit of himself in the student's mind, only to find that there was a piece of his spirit _already there_. How in the world could that have happened?

Tom Riddle needed a new plan. And, being the clever boy he was, he thought of one.


	9. Harry Makes A Friend

It was a while before Harry thought of the diary again. For the moment, there were plenty of other things to keep his mind occupied.

One of these things was Gilderoy Lockhart. On his very first day, he proved himself to be utterly incompetent at teaching.

He had started the class off by giving them a pop quiz that had nothing to do with the Dark Arts or magical pests. Instead, all the questions were about Lockhart's personal life. It included such questions as, "What is Professor Lockhart's favorite color?", "What is Professor Lockhart's favorite food?", and most egregiously of all, "How attractive is Professor Lockhart?"

The last one, in Harry's opinion, crossed the line. He raised his hand, something he hadn't done before in all of his time at Hogwarts.

"Ah, yes," Lockhart said, noticing him. "You're Harry Potter, I take it? The other staff have told me so much about you! And to think you were that boy I met in Flourish and Blott's! So modest and yet-"

Harry cut him off. "I have a question."

Lockhart frowned, and began wringing his hands. "Yes?"

"What do any of these questions have to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts? They're all about your personal life!"

A nervous smile overtook Lockhart's face. "Well, I was just getting to that! Allow me to introduce today's lesson."

He walked over to a cage by his desk, which was covered up by a pink cloth. He removed it to reveal a cage full of doxies.

"Your first task, students, will be to repel these creatures as best you can," Lockhart said, before opening the cage. The doxies, being doxies, immediately flew out and dove at the students. The students, being students, alternated between running, hiding under their desks, or firing out random spells in all directions.

When faced with a bunch of angry doxies swarming all over the place, Harry decided to use the first spell that came to mind.

"Incendio!"

Which wasn't the worst choice, as several of the doxies caught on fire, while the rest of them flew away from the smoke and heat. Lockhart, however, wasn't pleased.

"You aren't supposed to kill them!" he shouted over the general mayhem. "Now I can't use them in the next lesson."

Of course, it would have helped greatly if any of them had known how to disable doxies without killing them. Instead, the lesson ended with a bunch of smoke, ash, and many painful bites. Harry resolved to send a strongly worded complaint to the headmaster about their severely impotent teacher.

The invisibility cloak did indeed prove to be quite useful for avoiding the brat with the camera, who was often trying to look for him in the halls. Was he really that desperate for an autograph? Or was he just from a family of paparazzi? Either way, Harry was thankful he was a year below him.

It seemed that Creevey wasn't the only person looking for Harry, however. That was Harry's guess, anyway, as he couldn't figure out why else the red haired girl from the train kept wandering around the library without ever getting a book when he was there. Again, the invisibility cloak proved to be extremely valuable.

Harry received a reply to his complaint about Lockhart a few days after he had sent it. Dumbledore promised that something would be done about the terrible professor shortly, and advised him to keep an eye out for an announcement of a duelling club.

There was an announcement for a duelling club soon afterwards, although Harry didn't sign up for it. Duelling was not something that interested him, for he didn't have any plans that involved fighting someone in his future. He much preferred desk jobs, preferably with a comfortable chair to sit in.

The first meeting of the duelling club was apparently quite a riot. From the stories passed around after its conclusion, it appeared that Lockhart had been forced to demonstrate the basic principles of duelling for the students, only to end up utterly humiliated by Snape. Not only that, but Snape had gone on to expose all of Lockhart's alleged encounters with the Dark Arts as fabrications, owing to the man's complete ineptitude with the subject. Lockhart had resigned in disgrace, being followed by a pack of reporters for the local wizarding newspapers eager to pounce on him to get their share of the story.

Harry wondered if such a tale could really be true at first, but figured that it must be when Dumbledore started showing up to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts instead of Lockhart.

Lessons with Dumbledore might have been interesting, if the subject matter was not so completely dull. Continuing from last year's coverage of small, dirty household pests that happened to be magical, they moved on to small, dirty wild animals that happened to be magical. The methods for dealing with them remained thoroughly uninteresting, relying on such things as the body bind curse and the disarming curse. If Harry actually ended up running into a wild grindylow, he would just walk away. That would be much easier and less stressful, unless it started chasing him.

Another worry that popped up was the fact that Professor Sprout had decided that it was a good idea to teach the second year Herbology class how to raise mandrakes. Given that the cry of a mandrake was instantly lethal to anyone unlucky enough to hear it, Harry thought that the creatures would be better suited for some kind of soundproof laboratory out in the woods somewhere, but, instead, they were tasked with raising the things while wearing earmuffs. It was a good thing they were magic earmuffs, as regular ones wouldn't completely stop the sound waves vibrating through it from reaching the ear, but it still left Harry worrying that they might fall off and result in him dying from one of the stupid tree monsters. Why they couldn't just use some kind of magic spell to keep the things quiet, he didn't know.

Mandrakes were still the most worrying thing in Harry's mind as Halloween passed without incident, and Christmas began to approach (with the second most worrying thing being his Transfiguration exams). Snape was still as impassive as ever, although he did seem to like it when he was occasionally praised for showing up Lockhart. Binns was still a boring dullard that gave Harry an excuse to read in one of his classes. And Astronomy was as useless as ever.

Harry's conversation with Dumbledore at the end of summer prompted him to look up on the basis of love as a form of magic. It turned out that very strong forms of love were an ancient form of magic as well, although it was very poorly understood. It was a topic of large concern for secretive researches at the Ministry of Magic, who wanted dearly to try and replicate the kind of absurdly powerful protective shield that Harry's mother had given him upon her death. They efforts had not borne much fruit, however, and did not seem likely to in the near future.

When Christmas finally arrived, Harry once again elected to stay at Hogwarts; the decision hardly felt like a choice at all. After he had stored all of his school supplies in his trunk for the break, he noticed the diary lying there, and decided to try writing to it again. His anger at it for being a terrible place to store information had faded a while ago, and it might be able to regurgitate some useful information if he prodded it enough.

As he opened it again, new words faded into view on the page.

 _Hello once again, student of Hogwarts._

Harry grabbed a quill and started writing.

 _Hello, Mr. Riddle. Now that I'm on break, I was wondering if you could answer a few questions I had._

Instead of replying with just words, the diary also produced a sketch of a Christmas tree.

 _I do love how the castle is decorated in the winter holidays... yes, I can answer a few questions, although there is a question I would like to ask you as well._

Harry figured the diary would just want to know why he had left it sitting in his trunk for six months.

 _Do you know of a spell I could use to stop mandrakes from shouting? Also, is there a map of the school anywhere?_

The diary took a while to reply this time, as if it were wracking its non existent brains for an answer.

 _For the mandrakes, I would use a silencing charm. The incantation is 'Silencio', and is said with a sharp jab of the wand at your target._

 _As for the map... I don't think there is one. The school would not appreciate having all of its secrets laid out on paper, I think. You would have to use powerful magic to map it out. The founders probably wanted it that way._

 _Now, for my question... have you ever heard of the Chamber of Secrets?_

Harry had no inkling of what the Chamber of Secrets was.

 _I have no idea. Why do you ask?_

Harry got the distinct feeling that the diary was mocking him as the new words flowed onto the page.

 _Haven't read "Hogwarts: A History", have you? Well, the Chamber of Secrets is a hidden place in the castle where Salazahar Slytherin hid many of his most priceless treasures. Gold, artifacts... and the secrets of immortality._

Harry hadn't read "Hogwarts: A History", feeling that reading just about a school would be somewhat underwhelming. What the diary said was in the chamber was most certainly not.

 _Interesting. How would I find this chamber?_

The diary provided another picture of a round collection of sinks.

 _On the second floor, there is an abandoned girl's washroom, haunted by a ghost. There is a... code word that you must speak to one of the sinks._

 _It is... ssnsnsslls._

"Ssnsnssls?" Harry muttered.

Upon hearing the words spoken out loud, his mind recognized them as something completely different; "open." Perhaps the word was magical, or perhaps... it was in parseltongue? If that was the case, then it certainly explained how the chamber had remained a secret.

It did make Harry curious about this Riddle character.

 _How do you know all this, Mr. Riddle?_

This time, the diary seemed to exude an air of pride.

 _It comes with being an heir of Slytherin._

Well, that would explain it. He was probably some student or teacher that had died centuries ago and wanted someone to dig up all that stuff his father or grandfather had left behind, so it wouldn't be forgotten, or something along those lines. And if that meant Harry could profit from it, well, that was just a bonus.

* * *

It wa late at night as Harry neared the washroom that matched the diary's description, he couldn't escape the nervousness in his stomach that came with breaking the rules. Going into a girl's washroom was probably some kind of cardinal sin, after all, even if no one used it any more. That was where having an invisibility cloak came in handy. He had also brought the diary with him, in his bag, in case he needed to identify some of the artifacts left in the chamber. It wouldn't do for him to end up accidentally injuring himself if one of them was cursed, after all.

He decided to try speaking to the sink with the snake taps first. It would make sense for that to be the one, if he was speaking parseltongue to it.

" _Open,_ " Harry said.

The sink did not open. Instead, all of the sinks sank into the ground, revealing a large, slimy pipe that sloped downward into the darkness.

Looking at how far the potential drop could be if he entered it made Harry wince. He was glad levitation charms were something he had learned in his first year.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The spell only worked on his clothes, but that was all he needed to float down the pipe slow enough to avoid injury. Not that it turned out to be necessary, as it emptied out onto a slimy, but soft floor composed of... something. The area appeared to be well below the Hogwarts lake, where the dungeons were located. It would have been an engineering nightmare if not for magic, as it would be so easy for all that water to suddenly crush the ceiling and flood the entire room...

He continued forward through a long, greenish corridor, covered with moss and mold, that ended with a door with a serpent engraved upon it. Along the way, he had come across something that looked like a dead snake, or perhaps a worm. Probably one of Slytherin's old pets.

Harry opened the door, revealing a chamber with a large statue of an old wizard, but no gold, artifacts or books on immortality that he could see.

Then, a large, booming voice echoed throughout the chamber.

"Is that who enters the Chamber of Secrets a friend or foe of Salazar Slytherin?"

Harry blinked. Was this some kind of defense mechanism the founder set up? If so, it was best to play nice.

"Well, I'd say I'm a friend, because it was an heir of Slytherin's who led me here, and I'm a student here, I guess," Harry said.

There was a low rumbling that steadily grew in volume as something moved closer to Harry. Then, a massive snake came out of the mouth of the statue, pooling onto the ground below. Though it looked straight at Harry, it kept its eyes firmly shut.

The diary suddenly began to thump and move around in Harry's bag, but he ignored it.

"At last, an heir of Slytherin has returned to the Chamber of Secrets," the snake said, with a distinctly feminine voice.

"What? Me, an heir of Slytherin? How?" Harry asked.

"You speak the language of snakes, with a perfect rendition of Salazar's accent. There is no way you could possibly not be an heir."

"I do? That's odd." Harry had never thought his parseltongue sounded anything like how people spoke a thousand years ago, but he supposed he couldn't really tell if he wasn't a snake.

"I don't suppose if you'd know if there was any stuff around here?" Harry asked. "Like, gold, or magical artifacts, that kind of stuff."

"There are no gold or artifacts here," the snake said. "There is only me, and the memoirs of Salazar."

"Ah." Harry frowned; clearly, the diary had set him up, although he couldn't understand why. Maybe he could force the answer out of it later by threatening to set it on fire.

"Well, what are you?" he asked the snake.

"I am the king of serpents, a basilisk, commissioned by Salazar to one day follow the orders of one of his heirs to cleanse this school."

"Wait a minute. Since you're a girl, wouldn't that make you the queen of serpents?"

"No."

"Huh." Harry paused, as the diary made another futile attempt to escape his bag. "Do you have a name, basilisk?"

"Salazar never gave me a name," she said.

"Okay. What did you mean when you said you're here to cleanse the school?"

"Salazar feared that the children of the non magical humans would one day overtake this school in number and power. Knowing his own death was approaching, he placed me here, that I might one day be awoken to kill all such children whose blood was not pure."

Harry winced. "Uh, do you think you could not do that?"

The basilisk cocked its head to the side. "If your wish is for me to not kill the impure, then I will not. I am bound to the heirs of Slytherin."

"Oh, good. In that case, could you not kill anything? I mean, unless you have to eat, then you could kill rabbits or something-"

"Salazar released me from my physical needs a long time ago. I will not kill anything," she said.

"Great." Harry said. "Oh, and another thing. Why have you kept your eyes shut this whole time?"

"The gaze of a basilisk is injurious to all who see it. If you were to see my gaze, you would die."

"A-ah."

Harry paced around for a couple minutes (the diary haven given up at that point), wondering about what he was going to do with a basilisk hidden underneath the school.

"You know what?" Harry said, breaking the silence. "We should talk to Professor Dumbledore about this. He'll know what to do. Do you know how to get to the headmaster's office?"

"No."

"Well... do you know how to get back into the school from here?"

"Yes. Follow me."

The basilisk turned and slithered back into the mouth of the statue, while Harry scrambled to keep up with her. She led him through a twisting and turning series of damp pipework, before exiting into the lower dungeons, near the Potions classroom.

"I can lead us from here," Harry said. "Lumos."

He began walking to Dumbledore's office, with the basilisk trailing behind him. Along the way, he ran into the caretaker, Argus Filch. Filch gaped when he saw the gigantic snake.

"W-what's the meaning of this?" Filch sputtered.

"I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore about it," Harry said.

Even Filch could see the wisdom in that, so he moved to the side while Harry continued walking. Soon, he had reached the staircase leading to Dumbledore's office, which the basilisk couldn't fit through. That might have been for the best, though, since the old man might be quite spooked to see a giant snake's head poking into his room.

Harry climbed the staircase, only to be faced with the two stone gargoyles guarding it. And this time, he didn't have the password. So instead, he knocked.

"Hmm? Who could be here at this time of night?" Dumbledore said, before opening the door. "Ah, Harry Potter! I'm curious as to what brings you here, given how late it is. I don't think Filch would like seeing you out here."

"It's a bit of a special situation, Professor," Harry said. "I found a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets."

Dumbledore looked as if someone had thrown his entire collection of socks into a threshing machine. "A basilisk? In the Chamber of Secrets?! How?"

He listened intently as Harry explained the story to him. "I left the basilisk waiting downstairs, since I figured you would know what would be best to do with her."

"I suppose so," Dumbledore said. "If you wouldn't mind, could I have a look at that diary? There's a strong possibility it contains some sort of dark magic."

Harry shrugged. "I don't think it could anything besides writing to me and moving about, but okay."

He gave Dumbledore the diary, which felt distinctly unhappy as it left his grasp.

"And now, I'd like to see this basilisk of yours," Dumbledore said. "For its convenience, as well as for the safety of others, there is a bit of magic I would like to perform on it."

They went down the staircase, where the basilisk had been patiently waiting. Dumbledore sized it up for a moment, then waved his wand, and summoned a gigantic pair of thick, opaque sunglasses. He moved them over the snake's eyes, and cast another spell that held them firmly in place.

"You can tell her to open her eyes now," Dumbledore said.

Harry relayed the message to the basilisk, who, after some reassurances, opened her eyes, which were completely hidden behind her new shades.

"Ah, he put something on my face? A clever wizard, that one," she said. "Although I think this would be more useful if it wasn't so dark."

"It'll be much brighter when morning comes," Harry said.

"What's a morning?"

"If she is comfortable with her new headwear," Dumbledore said, "Then I would ask that you direct her to stay in one of the empty classrooms, for now. I will call a staff meeting, so Argus doesn't throw a fit over our new guest. There will also be a lot of paperwork to fill out with the ministry over this."

"A guest? What where you planning to do with her after this?" Harry asked.

"If this basilisk really is tame, then I think having her on the grounds of Hogwarts could represent an excellent opportunity for our Care of Magical Creatures class. If the board of governors agree to it, that is. Also, knowing that it was a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets means that, among other things, Hagrid was innocent."

"Hagrid? Innocent of what?"

"You'll see. For now, I think it would be best for you to go to bed."

That was something Harry could agree on. He really was quite tired, after all.


	10. A Much Nicer Christmas

The next week was filled with a flurry of activities as the word got out that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened once again. The revelation that there had been a basilisk sleeping undetected beneath Hogwarts for the last thousand years certainly caused quite a stir among the wizarding community.

Firstly, there was the question of what was to be done about the basilisk. Under normal circumstances, with it being a extraordinarily lethal monster, letting it live would have been out of the question. As one of the last remaining relics of one of the Hogwarts founders, however, there were many members of the Ministry of Magic who would prefer to have it preserved in some fashion. There were even rumors that some of them went so far as to sympathize with Slytherin's intentions when he placed the basilisk in the chamber, and wouldn't have minded if his plan had succeeded.

The fact that the basilisk was essentially tame made it easier for the wizards who came to inspect it to not kill it on the spot. A tame basilisk was a very rare sight, perhaps more so than some of the outlandish creatures mentioned in _The Quibbler_. They determined that despite being over a thousand years old, the basilisk bore no physical effects of aging beyond thirty years, and that it no longer required food or water, owing to some kind of powerful magic Slytherin had put on it. They were also stumped at its very docile behavior, and its subservience to Harry, who could convince it to slither through a bunch of hoops, among other things. That was also attributed to Slytherin's magic, although they couldn't understand how it was done.

In the end, the Ministry decided to let the basilisk stay at Hogwarts, as per Dumbledore's wishes. It would be given a place to stay on the grounds, and students in the NEWT level of Care of Magical Creatures would be allowed to visit it with Hagrid as part of an updated curriculum for the class. The other students were not allowed to visit it, except for Harry, who was designated as an informal sort of caretaker for the basilisk, given that he was the only known parselmouth in the country, and perhaps the only heir of Slytherin as well...

Dumbledore did not believe it. Though the Potter family line did go back through generations of older wizarding families, including the Peverells, it never made contact with any of Slytherin's descendants. Though there was a possibility that there could have been a bastard child somewhere that hadn't been recorded in the genealogy books, it didn't seem likely. Dumbledore suggested an alternative hypothesis, where Harry had gained his parseltongue from the curse Voldemort had tried to kill him with. The effects of the killing curse rebounding off a magic love shield were so poorly understood that it seemed like a credible enough theory, although Harry suspected that it would be an unsolved mystery that he would never learn the true answer to.

There were several other things to attend to with the new knowledge of the Chamber of Secrets. One of these was Hagrid being innocent of its opening several decades ago. Hagrid had been blamed for the petrification of several students and the death of one other, which had been attributed to him having hidden some kind of monster from the school authorities when the attacks occurred. The revelation that the monster was a basilisk, however, put his supposed guilt into question. After testifying that he was not a parselmouth, and that he could not have controlled the monster in any way, he was released from the restrictions the Ministry had put on him years ago. He was allowed to get a wand again, and learn to perform magic; something that made Harry wonder what exactly was up with the umbrella Hagrid had used for basic magic. Well, some things weren't worth asking about.

The actual culprit behind the previous attacks was suspected to be Tom Riddle, who was none other than Voldemort himself. When Harry questioned the basilisk about it, the previous heir that opened the chamber matched the description of the young Riddle perfectly, as did her descriptions of the victims.

"The other heir wanted to be discrete with his plan," the basilisk had said. "He was caught by one of the girls in the bathroom. He was very persuasive, though. He told her my release was for her benefit, so I could attack her tormentors. She agreed to keep it secret, and named the ones she wanted revenge on. The heir had me petrify them through use of a mirror, as one of them was pure blooded and the heir did not want her dead. Then we returned to the girl, and Riddle beckoned her forth, so that she would see me and die. She did so, and then I was locked away again in the chamber once more..."

Though the Ministry reached the conclusion that Riddle was guilty of the crimes, there wasn't much that could be done to him beyond taking down his old awards for excellence at the school.

Riddle's diary was something that Dumbledore insisted on keeping. After studying it for a few days, Dumbledore determined that it was a highly dangerous magical artifact capable of possessing the unwitting fellow that might write in it. Harry hadn't felt any symptoms of possession when interacting with the book, which Dumbledore also suspected to be part of the 'gift' that Voldemort's curse had given him. On the other hand, Harry did receive a copy of Salazar Slytherin's memoirs, which, in his haste, he had forgotten to investigate while he was in the chamber.

"The Ministry has insisted that Slytherin's writings, in their original form, should be stored in an official, top secret place," Dumbledore had said. "Because of your actions in the Chamber of Secrets, however, I think it is more than fitting to say you deserve to possess them as well. I did have a cursory look at them beforehand, and there was some dark magic written down in there, but I trust that you will not abuse it."

Dumbledore's warning might have had some merit if Harry could even read Slytherin's notes. As it was, it appeared to be written in a language that resembled a drunken lovechild between German and French, that also suffered from fetal alcohol syndrome. As interested as Harry was in reading one of the founder's personal thoughts, he quickly gave up and decided to wait for some translators to make the text bearable.

Then there was the matter of the basilisk itself. Though it possessed a mind that was equatable with that of an adult human, its views on the world and on morality were much like that of a child. That was best demonstrated the morning after it had left the chamber, when it asked Harry what had caused the castle to become so bright.

"That's just the sun," Harry said. "It rises in the sky and shines over the world until it sinks away at night."

"Where is this sun?" the basilisk asked. "Can I see it?"

"Well, it's just outside. I guess I could show you it."

"Outside of what?"

"Outside of the castle," Harry said. "It's this way..."

He led the basilisk out onto the grounds, where it was utterly mesmerized by the sight of the snow covered grounds in winter, which were admittedly rather pretty.

"All... all of this exists?" the basilisk whispered.

"Yeah," Harry said.

"All this time, I thought there wasn't a world beyond this castle, beyond the Chamber of Secrets... yet here it is."

Despite the cold weather, the basilisk stayed out on the grounds for several hours, watching the sun and the clouds go by in the sky, before eventually turning back into the castle.

Harry wasn't sure what kind of name the basilisk should have, or what name it would want. He figured the best way to solve the problem would be to get a big book of names, and let it choose whichever struck its fancy.

This proved to be a laborious task, for the basilisk was quite picky about what it wanted to be called. Most names had her quietly shaking her head or grumbling something unintelligible. Occasionally, there would be a name that would hold her interest, but that was not enough for her, and she would ask for the story behind the name as well. Usually, Harry would either not know of any famous people who had the name, or the story of the person with the name wouldn't satisfy her, as with Bathilda and Daisy. Eventually, Harry got to a name that really interested her.

"Eve? That sounds like an intriguing name," the basilisk said. "Is there a story for it?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," Harry said. "It's not a magical story, though, so I don't know if you'd be interested in it."

"No, go on."

Harry hesitated for a moment. One of the things that the Dursleys hadn't trusted him with was religion, believing that it wouldn't mix well with any of his parent's blood, even though he was, to them, perfectly normal. Thus, his knowledge of the book of Genesis came from tertiary sources, and was probably filled to the brim with inaccuracies. Still, it was better than nothing, and he was getting tired of going through names.

"Well, you see, there was this, uh, garden, that two people lived in," Harry began. "It wasn't their garden, it was owned by... someone else. One day, a serpent came to them and made them eat some fruit, and they had to be kicked out of the garden because it wasn't a good fruit, or something."

The basilisk's eyes lit up. "I like that story," she said. "It shows that snakes belong in the outside world, where the sun shines and the grass grows, instead of being kept hidden away underneath the earth. I will call myself Eve from now on."

"Hold on a minute," Harry said. "I think it was one of the people that was called Eve, not the serpent. I don't think that was the moral of the story, either..."

But nothing he said could convince her otherwise, for she had grown quite attached to the name.. From that day on, she was no longer Slytherin's monster, but Eve the basilisk.


	11. The Perks of Being An Heir

Having a basilisk for a friend turned out to be a mixed blessing for Harry. On one hand, it was another excuse for people to want to talk to him, as if being the "Boy Who Lived" wasn't bad enough. On the other hand, having a basilisk for a friend also tended to drive people away under certain circumstances.

When the winter break ended, Dumbledore had Eve moved to her new living quarters at the school. It was a large, enclosed section of the grounds, near the forest. Dumbledore had used powerful warming charms to keep the area comfortable for Eve even in the cold winter nights, much to the chagrin of students who wished he would do the same for the entire castle. Eve said she would have preferred being able to roam around the grounds at her discretion, but she was content with staying there if that was how things had to be.

Eve was very curious about the world she was hidden away from for centuries, and had a cavernous appetite for stories, both real and fictional. Harry didn't have a whole lot of fictional stories, but he did have plenty of historical ones, and Eve loved to hear those. Harry found that talking to Eve was an oddly relaxing experience. Perhaps it was because Harry didn't feel the same pressure he did when he was talking with people to always be polite enough to not anger them. Or perhaps it was because he didn't need to maintain eye contact with her, a task that Harry had always found difficult.

Harry was distinctly reminded of that shortcoming when a deluge of people came to visit him after returning to Hogwarts from their holiday. Malfoy was the first to find him in Charms class, not even having the courtesy to wait for an opportune moment in a hallway.

"Hey, you!" Malfoy snapped, when he realized that Harry wasn't looking at him.

"What is it?" Harry muttered.

"I want my book back. The one I gave you on the Hogwarts Express."

"Oh, you mean that magic diary?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Yes, _that_ magic diary. I want it back."

As far as Harry knew, the Malfoys had claimed to be innocent when they were questioned about the diary. How odd of them to make such an open attempt to get it back.

"If you really want it back, you'll have to ask Dumbledore," Harry said. "Of course, I doubt he would give it to you, since it's apparently cursed. Not that I could tell, though."

Malfoy frowned. "My father has power, Potter. Money and power. Please take it seriously when I say that I want that book back."

"Look, Dumbledore isn't going to give that book back to me. If you're that desperate, go take it up with him."

"You're going to regret this, Potter. Mark my words."

Malfoy went back to his seat scowling for the second time in Charms class. Harry thought about telling Dumbledore about it, but it seemed like it would turn out to be more trouble than it was worth.

Harry's run in with Slytherins didn't end there, as there were a number of students who wanted to know if he was _really_ the heir of Slytherin. One Pansy Parkison in particular was absolutely convinced that he was, and proved rather difficult to shoo away. The degree to which those people would show admiration for some nobody whose only claim to fame was being allegedly related to some thousand year old dead man was stunning.

Not everyone viewed Harry's abilities as positive, either. There were a number of students who thought that he was dangerous to the muggle borns of the school. They were often headed by some brute named McLaggen, who made a great show of cracking his knuckles whenever he saw Harry. Once again, the invisibility cloak proved its weight in gold for avoiding him, although he had a knack for appearing in places where Harry would often be.

And then there was Creevey. He really went out of his way to see Harry, by interrupting him when he was telling Eve the story of Herpo the Foul.

"Woah!" Creevey shouted, breathing heavily from running all the way from the castle to the grounds. "Is that a basilisk?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"You don't mind if I take a picture of you, do you?"

"Yes, I do mind-"

Creevey didn't listen, and snapped a photo, much to Eve's annoyance.

"Oh, it didn't turn out quite right," Creevey said. "Both of you were blinking."

"Oh, I bet," Harry growled.

"Here, let me take another one-"

"Why does the child keep trying to blind me?" Eve said, wincing as another bright flash from the camera filled the air.

"Snarl at him and he'll go away," Harry said.

Eve suddenly moved forward and hissed at Creevey, who took off back to the castle in a fright.

"Nice one," Harry said, and patted her on the head.

Later that day, Professor Flitwick went out of his way to have a word with Harry.

"I have heard that the basilisk made an aggressive movement towards one of the students today, Harry," Flitwick said. "Would you happen to know anything about this?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Harry said. "I told her to do it."

Flitwick was outraged. "What? Why?!"

"Because the kid was getting on my nerves."

That lost him 20 points from Ravenclaw, which Harry thought was a perfectly fine exchange.

The red haired girl that used to hang around the library also paid him a visit a few days later, although she wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about it. She didn't seem to like Eve that much.

"Oh, uh, hi," she said, keeping her eyes on the ground.

"Hi," Harry said.

When she didn't respond, he went back to telling Eve about Caligula. When she heard him talking to the basilisk, her demeanor suddenly changed.

"A-are you talking to that t-thing?" she said, looking extremely pale.

"Yeah," Harry said.

She laughed nervously. "That's r-really weird."

Harry shrugged. "I guess so."

That was the last time the red haired girl went looking for him.

* * *

One of the major goals Harry had in talking to Eve was not just to give her a working knowledge of the world, but also to give her a functioning sense of morality. This proved to be quite frustrating at first, since to her, right was what an heir told you to do, and wrong was what you weren't told to do. She expressed that quite strongly when he tried to chastise her for the death of the girl in the bathroom.

"Why does it matter what happened to her?" Eve said. "The heir told me to look at her, so I did."

Harry sighed. "It shouldn't matter if an heir told you to do it. Killing people is wrong."

"Why?" Eve said innocently.

"Because... because you're taking their lives, and they can't get them back, okay? You wouldn't like it if someone took your life, would you?"

"I guess not..."

Nevertheless, Eve had a mind capable of grasping such concepts, if they were repeated often enough, and Harry felt that he was making progress as time went on. By the end of term, she was understood that hurting people was wrong, assuming that she wasn't just lying. Of course, Harry didn't think that lying was something she could do without instruction.

The silencing charm the diary had given proved to be of much use to Harry, who made sure to practice it often whenever he had an upcoming Herbology class. It proved to be quite effective on the mandrakes, although Professor Sprout gave him more than a few disparaging looks when she saw him casting it.

There was nothing as exciting as opening the Chamber of Secrets that happened for the rest of the year, which was fine with Harry. One thing that did crop up near the end of term, though, was the requirement that he take two additional classes. Hogwarts offered five: Divination, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies.

Divination sounded interesting at first, being a way of magically predicting the future. However, Harry's head of House admitted that the subject was essentially the magical equivalent of pseudoscience (pseudomagic?), which made Harry wonder why it was even taught at the school.

Arithmancy was stated to be the foundation of all wand based magic, which dealt with how to create and modify spells. That definitely sounded like a keeper to Harry, so he signed up for it.

Ancient Runes held little interest for Harry. While he was quite into history, translation was something that he did not care for in the slightest.

Care of Magical Creatures was right out for being an incredibly hands-on class, which left Muggle Studies. If Arithmancy turned out to be a lot of work, having a class he could effortlessly succeed in would help him keep his grades up. And if it wasn't, then he could at least use it as an excuse to learn more about legitimate muggle topics of study he had since left behind, like physics and biology. He signed up for Muggle Studies as well.

It was with surprising speed that Harry's second year at Hogwarts drew to an uneventful close. He did feel a bit sad knowing that he had to leave Eve behind, but it wasn't something that really bothered him.

Harry could have sworn that Dumbledore seemed much more weary when he gave the closing speech at the last day of school, but he could not guess why. Perhaps it was something to do with that diary.


	12. Meet The Dementors

Harry's summer at the Dursleys once again passed without anything significant happening. There were chores to be done, errands to run, and relatives to be tolerated. This year's relative was Aunt Marge, who brought her nasty dog with her. Aside from her constant quips at Harry's late parents, she wasn't so bad, as she mostly kept herself busy spoiling Dudley.

When the letter came in telling Harry what new books he needed for the next year, he also received a notice regarding Hogsmeade. Hogsmeade was a little village on the outskirts of Hogwarts where the older students would go to buy sweets, booze, and have sex (for when the average abandoned classroom wasn't upscale enough). Of course, going there required getting a permission slip signed, so it wasn't _completely_ open for those who would abuse it. Harry wasn't able to get his signed, since it would tip off Uncle Vernon to just what Harry was doing when he was away from home, but he didn't think of it as much of a loss. He could certainly do without the candy.

When Harry visited Diagon Alley for the year's supplies, the whole village was in uproar over the escape of a criminal named Sirius Black. The name wasn't completely unfamiliar to Harry, as he was generally understood to be the man responsible for leading Voldemort to Harry's parents. Harry was somewhat skeptical of that claim, as the history books rarely went into the details of _how_ or _why_ he did it, but it was clear that him blowing up thirteen people right after Voldemort died was no accident.

Now Black was free from Azkaban, somewhere out in the country. Harry hoped that the man had enough sense left in him to go seek a tropical place in another country to spend the rest of his life instead of bothering him. Really, though, it was absurd that he had managed to escape at all, after spending thirteen years in the company of Dementors. The sordid history of Dementors spoke volumes about those who would continually tolerate their presence in the wizarding world.

The Ministry of Magic's fear of Black extended far and wide, as the entrance to platform nine and three quarters was guarded by a number of official looking wizards. It probably wouldn't help if Black just cast another explosion, but it was better than nothing.

At first, no one went into Harry's compartment on the ride to Hogwarts, which he regarded with relief. That didn't last, however, as the train was stopped at one point to be searched by Dementors. Their presence filled the train before they came into Harry's field of view; the room seemed to grow colder, the lights grew dimmer, and everything seemed more miserable then before. Then the actual creatures went by. They looked like the Grim Reaper, being black cloaked figures that glided around, but their skin was more akin to necrotic tissue then bone. One peeked into his compartment, bringing forth some unpleasant memories from when Dudley used to bully him, but they passed when it left.

When it was later revealed that they were checking for Sirius Black, Harry wondered if they were looking for him based on his physical appearance, or if they examined the memories of the people they saw to figure out who they were.

Sorting and Dumbledore's speech brought forth some sobering news. The threat of Black was apparently so great that Dementors had been allowed to guard the castle. It would be so easy for them to someone's soul while they were on their post, especially considering that they were guarding students. There was only one spell for dealing with them, after all, and it looked to be way out of Harry's league. He resolved to stay well out of their way.

With the beginning of a new term, there was also a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It was a man named Remus Lupin, who looked like he had seen better days, and then some. His coat seemed to have gathered more dust than the catacombs of Paris.

There was also some good news that Harry found out about when he visited Eve the next day. Or, rather, when Eve came to visit him, slithering all the way to the castle, much to Harry's surprise.

"You're back! Oh, you won't guess what happened!" Eve said, quivering with delight.

"They let you out of your pen?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but you don't know why."

"Okay, why?"

"The bearded man gave me a new job!" Eve said. "They want me to guard the castle against Serious Balk!"

"Sirius Black."

"That means I can go wherever I want on the grounds!" Eve continued. "I can look at my reflection in the lake whenever I want, or I can go and bother the threstrals."

Harry blinked. "Threstrals?"

"They have a whole troupe of them here. They draw the carriages, and make a whole lot of noise."

"Uh, sure." Harry frowned. "But don't you think that you're not taking your job that seriously? I'd imagine the Ministry let you roam around on the condition that you would be actively looking for Black, not sightseeing."

"What's the problem with Back-"

"Black-", Harry interjected.

"-? He shouldn't be invading the school if he knows there's a basilisk about. He should know that I'd just bite him if I saw him."

"I'd imagine that Black has a way of getting around without you finding him, if he managed to escape Azkaban." Harry thought for a moment. "Also, it'd be better if you didn't bite him. Just, I don't know, whack him a few times with your tail until he stops moving, so that the authorities can arrest him. Is that alright?"

"Don't worry, I was already told of those specifications," Eve said, raising her head up in a little show of pride. "I will try to capture him unharmed!"

"Now that you mention it, how were you told of all this?" Harry asked. "I thought I was the only one here who could speak to you."

"Oh, yes! The tall, bearded man talked to me. He said he picked it up from Salazar's old writings."

"Dumbledore could _read_ those?"

"I think so!"

Now Harry wanted to ask Dumbledore for a translation.


	13. Algebra, Boggarts, Criminals

Harry was somewhat apprehensive when he went to his first Arithmancy class with Professor Vector. The textbook for the class had a lot of math in it, and math was never one of Harry's strongest subjects (although it was amusing to note that even magic, as divorced as it was from muggle sciences, could not escape mathematics). That thought turned out to be right on the money.

Vector began speaking as soon as everyone had arrived to her classroom, which was mostly bare save for a large chalkboard.

"Welcome, new students. This is the Arithmancy class for third year Ravenclaws. If this is not the class you signed up for last year, then I suggest you leave now, and find the class you did sign up for."

None of the students moved, so she continued speaking.

"Arithmancy, as all of you should know from the course selection sheet, is the study of wand based magic. It is the foundation from which all wand based spells are derived. Every spell, from something as simple as the Jelly Legs curse, to something as complicated as the Fidelius charm, operates on the basic principles of Arithmancy.

I imagine that a great many of you were looking forward to this class with a great deal of excitement, hoping to craft your own library of spells. While I do not hope to dampen your enthusiasm for the subject, I must inform you that the majority of wizards working in the field do not succeed in wholly creating a new spell that is useful enough to be commonly used by anyone besides themselves. While there have been, and always will be wizards who are particularly proficient in Arithmancy, to the point where they invent several or more spells, they are quite rare, and it would be amiss of me to expect that every single one of you will graduate to become a prodigy in the field.

There is a saying, that great work is done by those standing on the shoulders of giants. It is also true that many of the spells you use today were not developed by one wizard in one lifetime, but were the results of many wizards working in tandem over the years to create and refine the equations needed to produce the best results. If you end up not being the one to finish the work you start on, then do not despair, since there have been many wizards in your position whose contribution to their work was quite significant."

Vector took a deep breath before addressing the class once again.

"To learn Arithmancy, you will need to start with mathematics. Yes, math. The fundamentals of Arithmancy are all based on mathematics. I trust that all of you already have a basic grasp on basic arithmetic, although some of you may find that your previous education on the subject to be... lacking. We will be covering algebra this year. I hope that all of you have already read the first chapter of your textbooks."

There was some embarrassed muttering as some students realized they hadn't done so.

"To start off, I'd like you to take a look at this graph," Vector continued, drawing two lines intersecting on the chalkboard. "This one is what we call the x-axis, and this one, the y-axis..."

For once, Harry was glad that he had learned as much math as he had in muggle schools, as several of the presumably pureblooded students looked to be completely out of their depth.

By contrast, Muggle Studies was as uninteresting as Harry suspected it might be. Taught by Professor Burbage, it focused on all the broad details of muggle life that escaped many wizards. Harry had little to learn there, but it still beat getting his fingers chewed on by magical creatures, or poring over dusty old runes. He figured that he could use a class to keep up with the work from Transfiguration and Arithmancy, at any rate.

Then there was Professor Lupin, who continued the Defense Against the Dark Arts tradition of teaching about incredibly dull magical creatures and the best ways of dealing with them. The only interesting lesson he offered was on boggarts, peculiar creatures who could assume the form of the worst fear of the person who encountered them. That would, in theory, make them incredibly dangerous, if they weren't able to be disabled through a ridiculously easy spell.

Lupin even had a live one for them to practice on. Harry was curious to see what form the boggart would take on for him.

After the other students had their time with the boggart (producing such creatures as vampires, inferi, and Sirius Black), it was Harry's turn. Lupin seemed to move forward, but stopped when he saw what the boggart was.

It was Harry, at first, but then it clutched at its arm, and fell. Harry could guess what it was, some kind of failure of the circulatory system. A heart attack, a stroke, some kind of blood clotting or blood vessel rupturing that left him immediately dead or incapacitated, forever paralyzed or brain damaged with no way to recover, until another took him to the grave, the result of his sedentary lifestyle catching up with him...

"Riddikulus!"

And then the boggart was no longer Harry, but a chicken doing a silly dance.

* * *

Harry had sent a letter to Dumbledore asking about Slytherin's memoirs early in the year, and received a prompt reply shortly afterward. As it turned out, they contained, among other things, the secrets of how parseltongue was developed. However, Dumbledore said that a fully translated version wouldn't be available for another year, as there weren't many wizards with a working knowledge of old English to do the job. It was something to look forward to, at the very least.

While Harry kept himself busy with his schoolwork, and reading, the rest of the school was constantly focused on Sirius Black. For some reason, he never ceased to hold the public's attention, as rumored sightings of him flew in every week, from every part of the country. It really made Harry wonder why one escaped criminal was enough to freak out every person to make up such outrageous stories. What would these people do if they ever heard of the concept of parole?

Everything that year seemed normal until Halloween night, when an equally outrageous incident happened. Someone had slashed up the portrait for Gryffindor tower, leaving the occupant a weeping mess. The culprit was said to be Sirius Black, which Harry did not believe at first, given that the evidence was given by Peeves, of all people. Why would Black want to invade Hogwarts, which was guarded so heavily by Dementors, just to break into one of the dormitories? And, if he had been a student at Hogwarts previously, why would he try to assault the portrait instead of snooping around until he figured out the password needed to get in? If he had a way of getting into the castle undetected, then surely listening whenever a student opened the door would be no challenge at all?

Nevertheless, the Fat Lady's own testimony matched what Peeves had said, leaving little doubt that her assailant was Black. Harry concluded that Azkaban must have rotted the man's mind beyond repair... or it simply hadn't been that functional to begin with. It made him much more worried whenever he walked the corridors of the castle, knowing that an insane serial murderer could be hiding there at any moment. At least he wasn't trying to break into the Ravenclaw tower.

This fear was somewhat tampered when he noticed a number of older students and teachers that seemed to be following him around. Professor Flitwick eventually took it upon himself to explain what was going on to Harry, after the end of one Charms class.

"A moment, if you would please?" Flitwick said, looking right at Harry.

Harry walked up to the professor's desk.

"You might be wondering why the school has assigned escorts to watch you in the halls," Flitwick said. "That is because we suspect it to be the case that Black has made it his duty to hunt down and kill you."

"You do? Why?" Harry asked.

"Black was always a good friend of your parents, Potter. His betrayal of them led us to believe that he must have hated them a great deal. Before he escaped from Azkaban, he was known to be whispering, 'He's at Hogwarts.' We believe that, well, he wants to finish the job."

"Then why'd he try to break into Gryffindor tower?"

Flitwick rubbed his brow. "It may be the case that he believed you would be in Gryffindor, since both of your parents were as well."

"I doubt it," Harry said. "If he wanted to kill me, he should have done so thirteen years ago, instead of running off to kill Peter Pettigrew. I think it's much more likely that the man is clinically insane, and is breaking into the school for no understandable reason."

"Perhaps. Still, try to be careful."

"I will."


	14. Peter's Great Escape

The general panic over Sirius Black continued well past Christmas. If the students were to believed, Black was hiding behind in the potted plants, inside the suits of armor, and nestled inside the chandeliers, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. If any of that was true, then it was a miracle that he hadn't managed to kill anyone yet.

This paranoia extended even to the postal system, when Harry was sent a racing broom in the mail by an anonymous benefactor. Not just any racing broom either, but a Firebolt, which was apparently _quite_ expensive. The staff thought it was cursed, and sent by Black as part of an elaborate plan to kill him. Harry wondered how an escaped convict would be able to scrounge up enough money to buy one of those things, and why he thought Harry would immediately ride it when he got it. Surely, he wasn't the only student at the school with a distaste for broomsticks?

At any rate, it didn't bother him overmuch. He would just pawn the thing off as soon as the teachers had finished checking it. More money was never a bad thing, after all.

The more significant result of Black's alleged escapades was even more security in the already secure castle. Now there was a curfew for students, trips to Hogsmeade were escorted by the teachers, and there were more Dementors around then ever. Eve had apparently been bullied by the Ministry of Magic into doing her actual job, for Harry saw her actually searching around the grounds for Black instead of lazily sunning herself. Or at least she tried to, when the entire castle wasn't snowed over. It left her with little time to visit Harry and listen to his stories, which was a bit of a shame.

All the new protective measures ended up meaning little to Black, who snuck into Gryffindor tower... or so one of the Gryffindor students said. The new portrait in charge of guarding the tower did admit to letting someone in, but it did not say who. Harry didn't think it was Black. After all, why would he go to the trouble of sneaking into Gryffindor tower (the place he was expected to be the most) again, only to run away when one of the students saw him? If he wanted to kill them, surely it wouldn't have mattered if they were awake or asleep? And why in the world would he use a knife to do the deed...?

Even the Fat Lady's testimony was starting to sound suspicious.

Still, Harry had to wonder about what mysterious character was getting in and out of Hogwarts, and making such a ruckus. He asked Eve what she had found, when she wasn't busy slithering around the grounds.

"Not much," Eve said. "There are the dementors, who watch the skies without excitement. There are centaurs that walk the forest, but keep to themselves. The big oaf who puts me in his classes lets some of his pets wander around. His thestrals sometimes eat rats near the village, and his dog occasionally wanders to the castle, but I haven't seen anything that looks like a Serial Black."

"I thought he kept his dog indoors," Harry said, no longer willing to correct her malapropisms.

"Maybe he has two dogs?"

"I don't think he does. Not that it really matters anyway."

Indeed, even if Black had disguised himself as one of Hagrid's pets, Harry assumed that some wizards would have checked to see if they were really animals and not transfigured humans. No, the whole scenario felt like some kind of elaborate prank. Harry had little patience for pranks.

Those feelings were intensified when some red haired boy (wasn't he the same kid who apparently ran into Sirius Black? Harry couldn't quite remember) ran to him, on one warm spring evening.

"You haven't seen my rat, haven't you?" he said, panting and clutching at his chest.

"Your _rat_?" Harry asked.

"His name's Scabbers, and he was with me until this, this dog took him, and now I don't know where he is..."

"I think that was Hagrid's dog. You should ask Eve about it. She probably knows where it is."

The boy scowled. "Eve? Who's that?"

"The basilisk."

"Well, I can't ask her about it! I don't speak that 'language' you do, alright?"

The boy did not look like he was going to leave him alone until his demands were met. Harry sighed. "Whatever. I'll tell her to look for that dog. Don't bother me after that, okay?"

Eve was looking around the lake when Harry and the other boy approached her.

"Hello, Harry," Eve said. "Are you also looking for the convict?"

"No," Harry said. "This kid was just looking for that dog you saw, because it stole his rat."

"Oh, that dog? It was going to the forest. I do believe I smelled some blood as it passed."

"Bad news," Harry said, turning to the boy. "Sounds like that dog did have your rat, and it ran off to the Forbidden Forest."

The boy was horrified. "Then we've got to go and find him before it's too late! That snake can track its scent, right?!"

"Could you follow where that dog went?" Harry asked Eve.

"Easily," Eve said. "The trail is bright and clear. I like bright things."

"Then go follow it, would you?"

They followed a short path to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Harry had put on his invisibility cloak, not wanting to be caught out of bounds or by whatever happened to be in the forest. If the other kid got caught, well, that was his fault for getting them into this in the first place. Still, if they didn't find the dog within the edge of the forest, Harry was going to turn back. There were bound to be Dementors lurking about, and they did not care much for children, invisible or not.

Suddenly, Eve stopped.

"It's him!" she hissed.

"What-"

Eve lurched forward with a sudden burst of speed that Harry hadn't thought she was capable of. Harry quickly followed after her to see what it was that she had found.

It was Sirius Black. To be precise, Sirius Black crouching on the ground, looking like he had been struck several times with a large, blunt object. Blood trickled from his nose and the corners of his mouth, and one of his legs looked to be broken. There was also a rat beside him, which quickly rushed over to its owner.

"I got him!" Eve said, positively glowing with pride. "I am the best security this school has ever had!"

"Euugh," Black groaned.

"So... he was the dog the whole time?" Harry thought aloud. "Strange."

"The.. the rat. The rat...," Black muttered, trying and failing to get up.

"Why's he talking about Scabbers?" the boy said. "Must be a nutter."

"Is there anything strange about that rat, Eve?" Harry asked.

"Why yes," Eve began. "It's not that exciting, though."

"It's... it's Pettigrew! The rat is Pettigrew!" Black coughed. "He's... an animagus... you have to-"

"What's the meaning of all this?!" another voice snapped.

It was Snape, marching straight towards them, looking as if someone had put a large thumbtack in his shoe.

"Potter, wherever you are, I must ask that you remove your invisibility cloak immediately, before I forcefully remove it from you," Snape said.

Harry gloomily took it off. "How'd you guess?"

"I saw you put it on. It was my turn to watch you, and I didn't suspect you'd be getting into trouble. Just like your father..."

Snape then noticed that Black was lying on the forest floor.

"Perhaps I'll forgive you for it this time, though," Snape continued. "Catching Black all by yourself? Quite an accomplishment, I must say."

"I didn't do anything," Harry said. "Eve-the basilisk- did it."

"Did she? Well, I suppose everything has its place." Snape leaned in to examine Black. "And for you, I think we won't have to bother giving you a formal arrest. The Ministry said that they're quite content to have the Dementors kiss you on sight."

"Snape, the rat, it's Pettigrew... please," Black pleaded.

"Eve was saying there was something weird about the rat," Harry said. "What exactly did you mean, Eve?"

"Most vermin would naturally flee from my presence in all circumstances," Eve said. "This one won't. It must be very brave! This boy is lucky to own such a brave rat."

Snape ignored the conversation in parseltongue. "Obviously, the man is delusional. There is nothing special about this rat. Watch me prove it. _Homenum Revelio_!"

All Harry felt from the spell was an odd feeling in his chest. Snape, however, flinched away from where the red haired boy was standing.

"Weasley, I won't ask you twice," Snape snarled. "Drop that rat. NOW!"

Weasley didn't have to, for the rat jumped out of his hands and began running. It didn't get very far, as Snape slashed his wand through the air, and the rat ceased being a rat. It was some sort of highly advanced Transfiguration at work, for the rat grew and changed until it was no longer a rat, but a very ratty looking man, with a couple of bite marks on his back.

"Pettigrew?" Snape whispered.

"S-Severus," Pettigrw mumbled. "H-How nice to s-see you again-"

"STUPEFY!"

A jet of red light flew from Snape's wand and struck Pettigrew in the head. He fell to the ground.

"You two will return to your dormitories," Snape said, glaring at Harry and Weasley. "Now."

* * *

Snape brought Pettigrew and Sirius to the dungeons first, taking care not to be seen by anyone else. They would be returned to the proper authorities soon enough, but there was something that he had to know now, when he had a moment to look at both of them.

His store of Veritaserum was ready, Snape having prepared it several months before. It was always something handy to have, but now it was worth more to him then all the gold of Gringotts put together.

First, he gave a bit of it to Sirirus, who regarded him with the same dispassionate loathing he always had.

"Did you betray the location of James and Lily Potter to the Dark Lord, leading to their deaths?" Snape asked.

"No," Sirius said. "I would never do such a thing. Never."

"Did you kill twelve muggles when you confronted Pettigrew?"

"Of course not."

That was all he needed from him. Next, Snape moved to Pettigrew, who was locked in a different room.

"Did you kill twelve muggles when you were confronted by Sirius?" Snape asked him.

Pettigrew could not resist the potion's effects, although he was starting to cry. "Yes," he said.

"Did you tell the Dark Lord the location of Lily Potter?!"

"Yes, I did, but you don't understand, there was nothing I could do," he sobbed.

For a moment, Snape was silent. Just one little moment.

"CRUCIO!" Snape shouted.

The ugly man writhed in horrible, excruciating pain. Again and again and again, the curse acted upon Pettigrew, as if every nerve in his body had been forced against a burning iron. Eventually, Snape stopped.

"Obliviate," Snape muttered.

* * *

It was a while before Harry was called out of the Ravenclaw common room, as he suspected he would be when the Ministry found out that Peter Pettigrew had been alive all this time. It gave him some time to think about what had happened, which now made some sense. Black escaping to chase after Pettigrew in a quest for revenge was much more likely then him hunting down some stupid kid who was only partially involved in Voldemort's downfall. Although, it might have been better for him to have plead his case to Dumbledore or someone similar... Eventually, he was told by Flitwick to go to Dumbledore's office, which was as good a sign as any.

The Ministry must have been quite shocked by the news, for the Minister of Magic himself was there, along with Dumbledore and Snape.. Sirius Black lay on a levitating stretcher as well, his leg covered by bandages, and Pettigrew was unconscious and handcuffed in the corner of the room.

"... I must say, I never expected that it could turn out this way!" Fudge said. "Pettigrew alive, and guilty; Black innocent! I never would have dreamed it. Oh, the _Daily Prophet_ 's going to have a field day with this!"

"I do imagine there will be a great deal of paperwork to file about this case," Dumbledore said. "If you wish, I could help you fill it out, when I have the time."

"That would be nice, actually. You can floo into the Ministry and talk to Bones about it. She's been busy with something tonight, so she'll be able to get started on it right away."

"I think I shall. It is best to have these matters away and done with before they are forgotten about. But I do believe we are forgetting someone," Dumbledore said, nodding in the direction of Harry.

Fudge looked up and noticed Harry, his face breaking into a large grin. "Ah, the man of the moment!" he said. "Why, it's only thanks to you that we've been able to sort this mess out! I'll have a word with Rita Skeeter about this. I'm sure she'll want to hear every word of your story."

"But I didn't do anything," Harry said. "It was all Snape and-"

"Are you talking about the Weasley boy?" Fudge asked. "I do believe I requested to see him as well?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Weasley was quite distraught upon learning that his rat was a middle aged hobbit," Dumbledore said. "I don't think he would like to see you tonight."

"Quite distressing, I'm sure. Now, Harry, why don't you come along to the Ministry with me? I'll have someone ready to publish the story right away."

Harry blinked. "I'd rather not-"

"Not to worry, my dear boy!" Fudge said. "You won't be held accountable for anything that happened tonight, I assure you. Now, if you'd just follow me..."

Clearly Fudge wouldn't take no for an answer, being so desperate for his stupid article in the _Prophet_ , so Harry moved to follow him. Fudge magically lifted Black and Pettigrew into the air, and made to leave the office.

"I think I will escort you from the grounds," Snape said, moving to follow them as well. "It would be quite a shame if an accident occurred, and Pettigrew was to escape again."

"Oh, of course," Fudge said, some of the exuberance draining from his cheeks.

Of course, it didn't last long before he had built it back up again. The man was quite a chatterbox, and just wouldn't stop talking about how big Pettigrew's capture was and how much it would affect their careers. Sirius was resting, and Snape wasn't talking at all, so that meant Harry was the only one for him to run his mouth at.

"Now, how about this? The Boy Who Lived, and the Minister of Magic, both standing at the hall of the Ministry?" Fudge said, continuing to outline his grand plans for tomorrow's headlines.

"For the last time, Mr. Fudge, it's Snape you want to be interviewing, and the basilisk here as well," Harry grumbled. "They're the ones who figured out this whole mess."

"Don't undersell yourself! Why, if you hadn't looked for that boy's rat, then everything would have turned out for the worse."

"Yeah, and if Snape hadn't followed me-"

Fudge cut him off as they reached the edge of the grounds. "Ah, I was in such a hurry tonight that I forgot to call off the Dementors. Ah, well, not to worry about it."

"You know, Fudge, there are some who say that speaking of evil is the best way to bring it towards you," Snape said, his voice catching Fudge off guard.

Pettigrew also seemed to stir at these words, but no one besides Harry seemed to notice.

"Well- I'm sure it won't be a problem. Now, let's-"

Fudge's voice died down as a deep chill settled over there air. Harry had only one guess as to what might have caused it. Sure enough, a second later a huge swarm of Dementors swooped in from the sky. Fudge screamed something inaudible.

"Expecto Patronum!" Snape yelled, summoning a silver doe from his wand. It charged at the Dementors, driving some of them back, although the effort appeared to be straining him a great deal.

Harry, in the meantime, was mentally kicking himself for not bothering to learn that spell. He _knew_ that there were a bunch of Dementors around the castle, he _knew_ that he might need to defend himself from them, he _knew_ that he could learn the knowledge of how to do so from books, or by asking Professor Lupin about it, but he had never actually gotten around to doing it, and here they were.

For the moment, the doe was enough to protect them, but Fudge wasn't doing anything to help them (in fact, he had tripped and fallen over), and it looked like they would be overwhelmed. At least, until Harry caught something speeding towards them out of the corner of his eye.

"Stop it!" Eve hissed.

The Dementors didn't listen to her, but they did freak out when she lunged and bit one of them. It sizzled and burned as it struggled in her jaws, flailing around as it melted and decomposed into something that looked like burnt rubber. The other Dementors quickly fled from the basilisk.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Harry said.

Snape dismissed his doe, and took a deep breath before looking around. And noticed somebody was missing.

"Pettigrew's gone," Snape growled.

"Well, that's just great," Harry muttered.


	15. Rising

Fudge became a lot more coy about the whole matter of Black and Pettigrew after Pettigrew had escaped from under his nose. His enthusiasm for taking Harry along for an interview had completely vanished, and he had trotted off to the Ministry looking completely downcast. The news about Pettigrew took a few days to leak out into the public, before it was eventually revealed by the same Rita Skeeter that Fudge had been so keen on meeting. Skeeter was quick to lambast Fudge and the Hogwarts staff for being too incompetent to restrain Pettigrew properly, for not keeping a proper leash on the Dementors, and for not putting the proper restraints in Azkaban to handle animagi. Her tone was particularly scathing where Dumbledore was concerned.

" _It amazes me that this so called wise headmaster did not know that he had several unregistered animagi running around in his school! Clearly the man has lost some of his knowledge if he believes that this sort of practice should be allowed, considering what we have just learned! Maybe we ought to consider finding a new member of the Wizengamot..._ "

Harry didn't exactly think she was wrong in that case, although something about her writing rubbed him the wrong way.

Nevertheless, after a bit of legal wrangling, Black was formally cleared of all charges. Funnily enough, it seemed that he would have been happier to still be a fugitive, so long as Pettigrew was dead. Thirteen years in Azkaban hadn't sapped him of his unquenchable desire for revenge, it seemed, as he spent his first days as a free man looking for Pettigrew, rather then sitting down and doing something relaxing. He wasn't the only one looking for the rat, either; Fudge had sent all the best aurors out looking for him, hoping to salvage some of his lost reputation. They weren't successful, as looking for one rat in a country completely infested with the things was a rather bleak proposition. Harry suspected that that was the last they would ever see of Peter Pettigrew.

Black's release also cleared up a few lingering mysteries. He hadn't actually gotten into Gryffindor tower, and the person who spooked the kid there was actually Pettigrew. He also turned out to be the one who sent Harry the broomstick, under the assumption that Harry would be a star Quidditch player like his father. He was quite disappointed to learn the truth of the matter.

"What do you mean you don't like Quidditch?" Black said, when he learned that Harry wanted to give him the broom back.

"It's not just Quidditch I don't like," Harry said. "I also hate brooms. I don't really have much use for this thing."

"You can't be serious."

After much grumbling, Black agreed to take his broom back.

There was really a significant gulf between Harry and Black, as Black seemed to keep expecting to be talking to James Potter instead of Harry. At first, he sent letters quite frequently to Harry, asking him about his life at Hogwarts, and talking about his parents. Harry's consistently terse replies caused his interest in corresponding with him to dwindle until he stopped sending letters entirely, which was how Harry preferred it.

More interesting was the business involving Remus Lupin. After a whole year of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts in a professional and intelligent matter, he was going to leave.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to teach this class for the next year," Lupin said, as the last days of school approached. "The Ministry of Magic will be holding a large event here for the next year, and they've made it clear that... they don't want me around for it. Fortunately, they've provided a substitute that I think all of you will find adequate. I will return to teach at Hogwarts the year after that, if all goes well."

"Why doesn't the Ministry want you here?" a student asked.

"I'm afraid it's a rather personal matter." That was all Lupin had to say on the subject, as he moved on to covering the material that would be on the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam.

That was dismaying to most of the students, who had grown rather fond of the professor over the term. For Harry, it meant that learning about how to fight Dementors would have to wait until the next year, as he wouldn't be able to practice the spell over the summer holiday. Lupin didn't even think Harry would have been able to learn the spell if he had the time to teach him, given that it was apparently NEWT level material. Nevertheless, he agreed to loan Harry a book on the subject, which was fine with Harry. Knowing the basics of the spell would be more helpful than nothing if the Dementors were to be sent to Hogwarts again. In Harry's opinion, the Ministry really needed to keep them on a tighter leash. It would be even better if he had time to start practicing it that year, but with his Transfiguration exam looming over him, he figured that it would have to wait.

By the looks of it, though, the anti Dementor spell didn't look particularly complicated. There was no casting motion to be made, nor did it require a thorough understanding of material transformation. The Patronus Charm, as it was called, took the positive memories of the caster and turned them into a shield that could drive away Dementors for as long as the caster could maintain their positive emotions. Not the easiest thing to do when Dementors were around, but certainly not impossible, either. It didn't look nearly as nasty as some of the other NEWT level spells, that was for sure.

For the most part, though, Harry was happy with how things were. The Dementors were removed from Hogwarts, Pettigrew was on the run, and life was back to normal. That meant that Eve was let off from her duty of constantly roaming around looking for criminals, although the Ministry didn't bother telling her to go back to staying in her pen. She also claimed to know a bit about the 'big event' the Ministry had planned.

"I've seen some official looking people wandering around here," Eve said. "They put down things and do things with their magic. They call to their friends in a funny sounding language, different then the students speak. I didn't see them around last year."

"I don't suppose you'd know what kind of magic they were doing?" Harry asked.

"Of course not!"

* * *

Harry's last days at Hogwarts for the year passed without much fanfare or excitement, as per usual. There were two more exams for Harry to take, and only one of them that he cared about passing. Then there was a few days before he left for the Dursleys. One of those days proved to be a little strange, for it ended with Harry dreaming a dream that was quite unlike any previous dreams he had experienced. He was used to dreams that he experienced through a fuzzy haze, with his sight being blurry and unfocused, his hearing completely cut off, and his mind muddled and unperceptive. This dream, however, was crystal clear, with every sight being perfectly visible and every sound being perfectly audible, almost as if Harry was there himself to witness. It was an odd dream, featuring Pettigrew running around and doing errands for something in a chair. No, not just something in a chair, but something that was apparently Lord Voldemort himself.

Then a man walked into the room, before Voldemort had him bitten by a snake. That ended the dream, which almost felt like a vision of sorts. Yet, it didn't really make any sense at all. Why would Pettigrew be doing things for a dead man, and why would a dead man be so short that neither his arms or his legs appeared on the sides of a short armchair?

It was too stupid to be worth worrying about, so Harry quickly forgot about it.


	16. Teaching Curses

Harry's third summer away from Hogwarts passed smoothly and uneventfully, which was just the way he liked it. There were chores to do for the Dursleys, no mail to for him to read, and lots of time to stay inside and do nothing of consequence. It would be even nicer if the weather wasn't so warm, but it was not to be.

Harry's trip to Diagon Alley that summer brought no news of any escaped criminals, or something similarly dire. The only news floating around was that some crazy people had dressed up like Death eaters at a Quidditch event. Nothing to be worried about, really.

His new Arithmancy textbook was the one that interested him the most. They had spent the entire first year of the class going over many basic mathematical formulas and concepts, without learning how they were related to magic. It was probably for the best, since most of the students in the class (including Harry) sorely needed that knowledge in order to process what they would learn in the future, but it still felt a bit disappointing. It looked as if that would change this year, as the new textbook went into the basic details of spells and mathematics. The problems the book presented reminded Harry of physics problems, as they included the challenges of understanding what you wanted to solve in a 2D or 3D space, figuring out what formula to use, and then solving the equation itself. All of it looked very challenging, making Harry wonder if taking the course was a good decision. At least he could devote Muggle Studies to working on his Arithmancy homework.

The ride on the Hogwarts Express proved to be the most peaceful and uneventful one yet for Harry. No one came into his compartment and no Dementors were roaming around. It was quite nice.

The man who Harry presumed was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was sitting at the staff table as the students filed in to the main hall. Harry didn't recognize him, but his face was quite distinct. It was chunky and covered with scars, like someone had taken a knife to a weathered stone. He also possessed a magical eye, which whizzed about, paying no heed to what his regular eye was doing. He seemed to regard the other teachers with a great deal of suspicion, for reasons that Harry could not guess.

More interesting was the announcements Dumbledore gave before the feast. Along with the usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest, there was a new proclamation of what the 'big event' was that the Ministry was planning.

"I am pleased to announce that Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year!" Dumbledore said, to general uproar.

The Triwizard Tournament, as Harry understood it, was not unlike the gladiator games of Rome. While they were both undoubtedly spectacular to watch at the time, they both had been retired for very good reasons. In the case of the Triwizard Tournament, it was the exponentially rising death toll that had eventually convinced the schools hosting it that it might have been a bad idea. For centuries, the idea of reviving it in a less dangerous fashion had floated around, but it seemed that they had only managed to make it work just then. It was difficult, of course, to come up with challenges for the participating wizards that were exciting for the audience while being tough for the champions to solve, while still being non lethal. It made him wonder just what would be in store for those who signed up for it...

Harry had no interest in entering the tournament, of course. The prize money was quite enticing, but not nearly enticing enough to convince him to enter a tournament meant for students two or three grade levels above him. It would undoubtedly lead to him being humiliated and given even more attention then usual, with both scenarios being ones he would rather avoid. Still, he did want to see what exactly the champions would be doing, even if it meant joining the rest of the school to watch them. It was certainly more exciting then Quidditch, and he might be able to learn a bit of magic from what the champions would do during the tournament.

The other champions... that was the other side of the coin that was quite intriguing. There would be three of them: one from Hogwarts, one from Beauxbatons, and one from Durmstrang, the latter two being the biggest wizarding schools in mainland Europe. That the other schools would be coming to visit Hogwarts posed an interesting problem; just how would one go about moving an entire student body? In the past, when the schools were much smaller, people would usually fly on broomsticks, but Harry wondered if that would still be the most practical solution to the problem.

At any rate, it would be quite interesting to have two foreign schools staying at Hogwarts. There was undoubtedly some things they taught in their curriculums that wasn't taught at Hogwarts, which could be quite useful. Of course, Harry wasn't likely to be able to pick it up just from hearing them talk about it, considering the Beauxbatons students were from France, and the Durmstrang students were from... somewhere. Harry could only speak English, and he didn't know of any translating spells to speak of. Still, it was something to keep an eye out for, if the opportunity arose.

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't eaten much before the feast ended, and the students were escorted to their dormitories. It wasn't the first time that he had forgotten to eat enough, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

* * *

The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was... quite something, to say the least. He introduced himself as Professor Moody, and dove right into just what he wanted to teach them.

The name was familiar to Harry, as Alastor Moody was one of the most highly regarded aurors from the days when Voldemort was around. Time, however, wasn't kind to him, as he was left as somewhat of a paranoid wreck after the war. That was the best explanation for why he thought it would be a good idea to teach fourth years about the Unforgivable Curses at their first class together.

"It's what you've _got to know_ ," Moody said, gnashing his teeth as he did so. "Now, who can name one?"

One of the students raised their hand.

"The Cruciatus Curse?" the student said.

"Yes," Moody growled. "Let me show you how it works."

Moody went to his desk and procured a jar with a centipede in it, which he took out, where it began to crawl around, oblivious to Moody's wand pointed right at it.

"Crucio!"

It seemed that Moody hadn't realized that insects couldn't feel pain, for the centipede was unimpeded in its quest to explore Moody's desk for crumbs.

"Well, what the curse is _supposed_ to do is to put the victim through an unimaginable amount of pain," Moody said. "A favorite of the more sadistic wizards. Good people lost their minds from being tortured with it. Now, can someone name another Unforgivable curse?"

"The Imperius Curse?" another student said.

"Yes," Moody said. "Now, this time, I should be able to show this to you..."

He grabbed the centipede and cast the curse on it, making it roll over and do an absurd kind of dance with its many legs.

"It may seem funny to you, but when you do this to to other humans, then you can imagine how horrible it can be. Friends turned against friends, family against family... awful things."

He ended the curse, and let the centipede go back to wandering around.

"As for the last curse, I'll fill you in on that," Moody said. "The Killing Curse. Not the only lethal one out there, but one of the best. Can't be blocked by any known spell or counter curse. Once it hits you, you're done. Watch."

"Avada Kedavra!" he growled, a bright green light flashing in the room. The end result was a rather dead centipede.

"A favorite of the Death Eaters when they were still active. Not a trace on your victim. No one has ever survived it, except for one person, who even happens to be in this very school..."

Moody couldn't have been more ham-fisted if he had tried. Harry sighed.

They spent the rest of the class jotting down information about the Unforgivable curses. It was more interesting then gnomes, at least, although Harry wondered if a man like Moody was really well enough in the head to be teaching. Many of the other students looked quite shaken up at how he had performed such illegal curses right in front of them. Harry, lacking a magical background to appreciate such deviations from normality, didn't really care, although he was worried that Moody might end up cursing somebody that accidentally snuck up on him. Clearly, it was best to give the man as wide a berth as possible...

A new year of Arithmancy brought with it a new set of problems to solve that were just as difficult as the textbook predicted they would be. The very first problem Professor Vector gave for them was quite a doozy.

 _Pillstrum's formula: the amount of magical energy produced per unit area is proportional to the displacement from the magical source squared._

 _g = (A)/(x - x0)^2_

 _Using Pillstrum's formula, determine the energy produced in the triangular region if the magical source is at point A, and the spell ends at point C..._

It would have been enough work to solve the formula, but the triangle was only half labeled, and they first needed to work out what all the lengths and angles were. That was just the first problem of the year, too, as it was promised that the class would only get harder and harder from that point on.

* * *

One thing that Harry was looking to was his translated copy of Slytherin's memoirs, which finally arrived a week from when he had arrived at Hogwarts. He didn't have much time to read it, with his Arithmancy and Transfiguration homework already eating up copious amounts of his time, so he settled for glancing at the first few pages.

The first one read:

 _This is dedicated to the wizards who made publishing this book possible: Colt Harris, Albus Dumbledore, and Harry Potter._

That made Harry feel a little proud, although all he had done was find out where the original writings were hidden.

It then continued to Slytherin's actual writing.

 _To the man who reads this, this contains the last writings of Salazar Slytherin, Founder of Hogwarts. Be it not a man but a beast that reads this, then surrender this at once to a man, so that it will properly benefit them._

 _Today marks the day that Hogwarts, my pride and joy, opens to students. Children will enter and grow to be fine young wizards, away from the prying eyes of devils and animals that infest this land. Here, they can hone their skills unafraid of the filthy, jealous scum that leech on us sorcerers, who would gladly draw and quarter us just for a taste of the magic that flows through our veins, burn us for a sniff of the magic in our bones, devour us for a taste of the magic in our muscles._

 _Yet this time is not without conflict. My friends and peers insist that our school host not only children of magical blood, but those descended from the normal populace as well. I pleaded with them to understand that bringing those brats in would alert the peasants, who would come howling to our school, and have us chased away or slaughtered. They say these children will not, that they and their families will stay silent for peace. I know enough of this world to smell lies. My line descends from the old and powerful, who saw many among their ranks slew for the crime of being magic. I will not let the same fate come to Hogwarts._

 _Now I must find a way to ensure that the school remains safe. There are many ways to do it, and one has not escaped my mind's eye..._

Harry thought him to be rather over dramatic.


	17. The Great Goblet Mixup

The Triwizard Tournament was the talk of the school, with nothing superseding it. Suddenly, Quidditch had become a sideshow, a children's distraction that no one cared for, when it had previously been a topic that seemingly everyone wouldn't shut up about. Even Moody's insane lesson plans had fallen to the wayside, compared to the prospect of seeing whatever tasks the tournament committee had planned.

Harry didn't fully share those views, as he found Moody's lesson plans to be much more worthy of attention. Moody thought that everyone should learn how to resist the Imperius curse, and he also thought that the best way of teaching that was to cast it on each student and let them try to fight it off.

"You've _got to know_ this stuff," Moody had said.

Harry disagreed with that, on the basis that he probably wouldn't be running into any criminals using the Imperius in his life, and also in the sense that he didn't trust Moody to be sensible in his use of the curse. It would be too easy for Moody to feign removing the curse from a student he didn't care for, while still maintaining complete control over them... but the only alternative he presented was simply skipping the class, and Harry wasn't going to do that just yet. He still wanted to pass his exams, after all.

Being under the Imperius was not unlike being under the effects of certain anesthetics, as Harry had experienced several times from having his cavities removed. It produced a calming, euphoric sensation in his mind, that made the rest of the world quite easy to ignore. Moody's suggestions came in the form of a ridiculously pleasant voice that was impossible to avoid, asking Harry to do various tasks he was supposed to resist. Harry couldn't manage to fight it at first; most of the students couldn't, with the few that could only managing to delay or partially modify the instructions Moody gave them. With practice, Harry could offer up some token resistance to the curse, but never for very long, nor did he ever manage to throw it off completely.

Salazar's writings continued to be quite interesting, for the kind of pure blooded prejudice his house was known for did seem to be rooted in a viewpoint that was once understandable, and perhaps even sympathetic, though not often agreeable. He came from a family that had known great losses at the hands of muggles, and had a great fear that such tragedies might occur again at Hogwarts, if the muggle born children were to give the wizards away.

Creating a monster to devour the muggle borns was not a good answer to that fear, however.

According to the book, Slytherin had experimented with all sorts of creatures to guard Hogwarts before settling on a basilisk. The main problem with the previous creatures he had messed around with was that he could not train them to follow his orders for long periods of time. Dragons were animalistic, caring only for their immediate desires, and could not be subjugated through the use of mental magic (the spells Slytherin used to attempt this were detailed in the book, although they were fiendishly complicated and of little use to Harry; was that the dark magic Dumbledore was talking about?). Chimeras could be controlled, but the method of doing so could not be passed on to Slytherin's heirs, as the spell would end with his death, and the beast would maul anyone who attempted to reapply it.

It became clear that he needed something that would follow his orders out of some sense of loyalty, and not out of a magical obligation, for magic tended to wither and die when the person providing it vanished. For that, he settled on a creature that was created by magic, as such creatures could have their mental attributes modified beforehand. A house elf was the most obvious example of that, but they were not as lethal as they needed to be to carry out Slytherin's wishes. Instead, a basilisk, the creature created by Herpo the Foul, was what he chose. Slytherin had an affinity for snakes, and set out to learn parceltongue, so that he could pass on his method of control to his heirs. The research he put into learning the language was also in the book, but was difficult for Harry to decipher. Perhaps further Arithmancy classes would help him there.

* * *

The day when Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrived finally arrived. It was such a momentous occasion that it meant that the last classes of the day ended early, much to Professor McGonagall's displeasure.

The question of how the schools moved all the way across Europe was readily answered. Beauxbatons arrived first, on a flying pumpkin shaped carriage drawn by flying horses. It seemed that they hadn't actually taken all of the students with them, unless Beauxbatons was a school of thirty students and one teacher. Their students wore blue, and enjoyed talking a lot. As soon as they left the carriage, some of them immediately ran to the side to have a smoke.

Durmstrang had a far more impressive entrance, in Harry's opinion. They rode a ghostly wooden ship, which rose from the lake and moved to the shore. Certainly, moving something like that from wherever Drumstrang was to the Hogwarts lake took a lot more effort then strapping it to a bunch of draft animals. Harry wondered if that had always been something the school could do, or if they had only came up with the idea recently. The students wore heavy furs, and all seemed to be rather dour.

The events continued with the arrival of Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch, two serious looking ministry officials there to oversee the tournament. They were to be assisted by Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; apparently, conflicts of interest were unheard of in the wizarding world. Harry recognized Crouch as one of the most important figures from the war against Voldemort, but Bagman and Maxime were completely unfamiliar to him. Karkaroff was infamous for being a former Death Eater who sold out his comrades, but his short time in Azkaban didn't seem to have affected him much.

(Also of note was how one of the Beauxbatons students was able to draw the attention of most of the males who happened to look at her. That had to be some kind of powerful magic, although Harry could not guess what it was.)

The highlight of the night was supposed to be the unveiling of the Goblet of Fire, a magical artifact which would be used to select the champion from each school. A big deal was made of how it was foolproof from underage students trying to enter the tournament, which was supposed to be important for some reason. If an underage champion was chosen, then surely it would be no big deal to disqualify them and to select another? Perhaps the Goblet would save them a bit of time, but the whole setup seemed to be too complex for its own good. And, for that matter, what made the Goblet so qualified that it was preferred for picking champions over, say, a committee?

At any rate, the champion selection process was surprisingly quick, and over in a few day's time. After a few incidents involving foolhardy students ignoring the explicit warnings that they had to be of age to enter, the Goblet had made its choices. They were announced on a chilly November night, as the first snow of the winter began to fall outside the castle.

First was the Hogwarts champion.

"Cedric Diggory!" Bagman announced, as a boy from the Hufflepuff table stood up. He seemed rather ordinary, perhaps even unimpressive. Harry didn't think he would be betting on him, if he was into gambling.

Then came the Beauxbatons champion.

"Fleur Delacour!" was the next one, as a light haired girl walked to the staff table. Looking at her directly, she seemed, for a moment, to be the epitome of beauty, a lovely angel walking among filthy men... and then the feeling passed, and she was just another girl. There was definitely some kind of magic about her; quite dangerous magic, if she knew how to use it properly. Depending on what tasks the tournament had, she could be quite the contender.

Last was Durmstrang.

"Victor Krum!" was a beat up, scowling figure with an oddly shaped nose. Harry figured he would have the odds in the brute force department, but he didn't look particularly clever. Looks weren't everything, of course, but one had to wonder how someone smart would end up with so many injuries at such a young age...

Then, for no reason at all, the Goblet spat out a fourth name.

"Harry... Potter?!"

And that was just _magical_.

"Harry Potter, would you please come forward?"

Harry reluctantly got up, and walked to the end of the Great Hall. The staff directed him to a back room, where a heated argument was bound to take place.

"What is this?!" Karkaroff shouted. "A second Hogwarts champion? Just what have you been up to, Dumbledore?!"

"I'm afraid I've been quite busy cleaning my telescope collection," Dumbledore said. "I don't think that's what you're concerned about, however."

"Don't lie to me! If you were tampering with the Goblet, why, I'll have you-"

"What exactly will you be doing, Karkaroff?" Moody said, raising one scorched eyebrow.

Karkaroff shuddered and said nothing.

"'e does have a point, though," Maxime said. "We cannot be having two champions for one school. Surely, we can fix the Goblet's mistake?"

"I'm afraid you can't," Crouch said. "Once the Goblet has made its decision, it creates a magically binding contract that can't be broken. I'm afraid the boy will have to compete."

"That's absurd!" Bagman said.

"I'm afraid it is the truth."

"Pardon me, but what does this contract actually entail?" Harry asked.

"What, you conspired to enter this tournament without knowing what the contract was?" Karkaroff sneered.

"You seriously think a fourteen year old boy could fool the Goblet of Fire?" Moody growled.

"Not an ordinary boy, but perhaps with outside assistance-"

"I can submit records of my memories to prove I didn't try to get in, alright?" Harry said. "Now, what does this contract mean?"

"It means you must compete in the three tasks for the Triwizard Tournament," Crouch said.

"But what happens if I don't compete? What happens if I just don't show up?"

"Are you familiar with the symptoms of food poisoning, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes." Harry hadn't personally experienced any of them, but he had seen Dudley suffer through them on the occasions when his gluttonous nature resulted in him eating something he clearly shouldn't have. They were not pleasant at all.

"Now imagine having those for a year."

Harry winced and rubbed his forehead. "Good lord."

To think that they used such a dangerous magical artifact to do something as trivial as deciding who could enter a competition! It was absurd.

"Now you see the problem we have," Crouch said. "Clearly, we _must_ let this boy in the tournament, lest he suffer the consequences."

"Are you sure we couldn't just destroy the Goblet? Would that remove the contract?" Harry asked.

"Of course not!" Bagman said. "That is a priceless magical artifact from the thirteenth century! Get that silly idea out of your head right now."

"There are a great many priceless treasures the world could do without," Dumbledore murmured, but no one seemed to hear him.

"I'm afraid there's no easy way out of this," Moody said. "While that contract is there, Potter will have to enter the tournament. Undoubtedly, whoever put his name in there must want him dead."

Bagman blanched at that comment. "W-what do you mean? I assure, the Triwizard Tournament is perfectly safe!"

"Of course you'd say that, Quidditch boy, but I can smell a rat when I see one. I can tell this whole setup is bad news."

"But if someone wanted the boy dead, why would they enter him in this tournament, instead of killing him directly?" Maxime asked. "They would have to be a skilled wizard to fool the Goblet."

"Maybe so, but I doubt they'd want to risk crossing old Dumbledore directly," Moody growled, while looking at Karkaroff.

Dumbledore held up his hand. "We'll sort this out later. Harry, it would be best if you returned to your dormitory for now."

Harry complied, his head spinning at the gargantuan display of stupidity he had just witnessed.

* * *

The next day, Harry went straight to the library, determined to learn more about the Goblet of Fire.

To his dismay, it worked exactly as Dumbledore had described it. Originally created by a madman who blew himself up trying to create a breathable fluorine gas, it was discovered to be excellent at selecting individuals who were brave and talented. It was first used by hot blooded wizards to challenge each other to duels, before it was decided to be the device used to select champions for the Triwizard Tournament, back in the middle ages. It was also modified to horribly afflict those who would back out of the tournament, as honor was rather highly valued at the time. It had been put in various museums since the tournaments ended... but somehow, the Ministry of Magic insisted that such a dangerous old relic should be brought back to regulate the tournament again. Yes, somehow, in their process of making the tournament completely safe, they forgot to change one of the most dangerous elements of it.

From Harry's point of view, that was complete bullshit.


	18. Dragon Your Feet

Being forcefully entered in the Triwizard Tournament was not a happy thing for Harry. It was this year's excuse for people to want to talk to him, a pattern that had been going on since he first arrived at Hogwarts. First it had been because he was the 'Boy Who Lived', then it was because he was an heir of Slytherin, then it was because Sirius Black was allegedly after him, and now it was because he was an illegitimate Hogwarts champion. He was really getting quite sick of it; just when could he have a school year were something big didn't happen involving him in some way?

It didn't help that it was mostly negative attention that he was getting. It turned out that Cedric Diggory was somehow very popular at Hogwarts, and all of his fans were quite displeased at what they thought was Harry's attempt to remove Diggory from the spotlight. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course, but that wouldn't stop them from thinking that Harry had both the ability and the desire to put his life on the line for popularity's sake.

It also acted as a reminder for Harry to start working on the Patronus charm. When the tournament had first been announced, practicing it had slipped his mind, which was aided by his Arithmancy homework growing steadily more difficult. With him being forced to participate in the show, however, it became a priority, as Harry wouldn't put it past the Ministry to use Dementors as one of the challenges in the tournament.

With the first task rapidly approaching, it was one of the first things he did, out on the grounds. Eve would be there, and people rarely bothered him when she was around. It was one of the nice things about having her for company.

"Do you have a story for me today, Harry?" Eve asked.

"Maybe later," Harry said. "Right now, I need to work on this spell."

"What kind of spell is it?"

"A Dementor repelling spell."

"What do you need that for? There aren't any Dementors lurking around here any more."

"There might be some here in the future... see, it's complicated," Harry said. "I got entered in this stupid tournament, and now I have to go through these three tasks. One or several of them might involve Dementors, or something like that. Better to be prepared, just in case."

"So you think the school will be bringing in monsters?" Eve briefly glanced towards the forest. "They've already brought in a bunch of new creatures. They're already looking after a bunch of flying horses!"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said.

"They also brought in a bunch of giant crabs!" Eve continued. "And worst of all, there's a whole flock of things they moved into the forest. I don't know what they are, but they smell horrible. I can't escape the stench, no matter where I go."

"That's interesting, but I need to concentrate on this spell for a bit. Could you please be quiet for a moment?"

With Eve silent, Harry could focus on performing the charm. The book said that he had to focus on one supremely happy memory to fuel the spell. Harry, however, didn't have one memory that he would count as being much happier then his other ones. Instead, he found that across the majority of his memories, there was instead a general feeling of happiness spread throughout them. Indeed, there had rarely been a time when he wasn't content in some way (this wasn't because his circumstances were especially spectacular; rather, it was because he set his expectations really low). There were blips in that feeling here and there, of course, but it was overall a comforting sensation, to look back on his life. Harry tried to focus on that feeling as much as possible for casting the spell.

" _Expecto patronum_!"

From his wand burst a thick cloud of silvery smoke, which clumped around itself for a moment, before assuming a definite shape. It was some kind of mole, which covered its ugly snout with its paws when Harry looked at it. It was a bit odd to see the patronus take on a corporeal form on his first try, as the book said it took a lot of practice to get to that point. Harry wasn't going to question it, though.

"Is that supposed to repel Dementors away?" Eve said, sniffing at the mole.

"It's all I've got," Harry said. "I'm not nearly as venomous as you are, so they won't be dissuaded if I bite them."

With Harry's mind beginning to wander, the mole lost its shape again, before vanishing entirely.

"I suppose I might have time to tell you a story today after all, then," Harry said. "Did Salazar Slytherin ever tell you about how he chose you to be his guardian for the school?"

"He never did," Eve said.

"Well," Harry began, opening Slytherin's memoirs, "He had to go through a bunch of different things to figure out which one would be just right, you see..."

* * *

The day of the first task approached quickly, bringing some very annoying things with it. One of those things was a "wand weighing" session, which was inexplicably part of the proceedings. Not only that, but it came at the expense of one of Harry's Transfiguration classes, which he generally couldn't afford to miss. What was even worse was that the session turned out to be entirely pointless. All there was to it was having someone examine Harry and the other champion's wands. There was someone there that wanted to interview him as well, but he turned it down. More publicity about this stupid event was the last thing he needed.

What was more surprising was when Ludo Bagman elected to visit him about the task.

There was something visibly off about him, as he kept checking behind him, and muttering under his breath.

"A word, Potter?" he asked, his voice husky and uncertain.

Harry decided to oblige him, following him to a place where there were currently no students to overhear them.

"About the first task; it's dragons," Bagman said.

"Dragons...?" Harry asked.

"Dragons, Potter. One for each champion. Be ready for them." Bagman then turned and left in a rush, leaving Harry with a bunch of unanswered questions. Although it didn't surprise him that the people running the tournament had no integrity at all...

That same day, Harry had a class with Moody, who also wanted to talk to him about something.

"Could I talk to you for a minute, Potter?" Moody growled, once class had finished.

Harry walked over to his desk.

"So, I see you've heard from Mr. Bagman about the first task?" Moody asked.

"How do you know about that?" Harry said.

"I have ways of hearing things I'm not supposed to," Moody said, gesturing to his magic eye.

"But you weren't anywhere near us! And I don't see how seeing through walls would be-"

"Never mind that," Moody said, waving his hand. "What's important is what you plan to do about those dragons. What are you thinking, Harry?"

"I'm thinking that Bagman was joking about there being dragons in the first task," Harry said. "They said they went out of their way to make this tournament safe. Why would they have dragons if that was the case?"

"It's no joke, my boy," Moody said. "I've seen them."

"So they're real, huh?" Harry sighed. "And they expect us to... overcome them in some way? One of us is going to end up pasted against the wall for sure."

"Don't be so negative, now. You have strengths you can use to your advantage. What are you good at?"

"I know some history, and I'm good at brewing potions. That's it."

"Potions, eh?" Moody stroked his chin. "There's a lot of things you can do with potions. Surely you have a few ideas?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Many things, if I could convince the dragon to actually swallow them! No, I have a better idea. I'll learn how to cast a Disillusionment charm on myself. Then I can just hide from the dragon until the task ends."

"Hiding from the dragon?" Moody snapped. "But what about winning the task, Potter?"

"Do you think I actually care about winning some stupid cup when it means there's a chance I could have my guts ripped out by a dragon? Or I could end up cooked alive by their fire? I'd be happy to escape this tournament with just my skin, thanks."

Moody was taken aback. "Well- I suppose that's good thinking. But wouldn't it feel good to win anyway, as the underdog?"

"I'll pass, thanks," Harry said, before getting up and leaving.

* * *

Dragons. They seriously wanted them to overcome _dragons_. The committee for the tournament was beyond saving.

Dragons were one of the most dangerous magical creatures out there. They were gigantic, aggressive, and capable of flight. They possessed talons that could shred a man, fiery breath that could burn a man to cinders, and hides that resisted every form of magic known. They had terrorized both muggles and wizards alike throughout history, before eventually being subdued during the late Renaissance. It took a minimum of seven adult wizards working in tandem with magic they had trained with for years to subdue one dragon, and dragon corralling was still one of the most dangerous jobs out there.

And they wanted him to fight one alone.

Utter insanity.

When Harry thought about it more, he realized that just using a Disillusionment charm wouldn't be enough. The dragon would still be able to smell him, so he needed a way to disguise his scent as well. It was fortunate for Harry that there was a potion that could help in that regard that he could brew. The Anosmic Draught, as it was called, would hide him from the dragon for about an hour if he drank it right before the task began. Of course, there was a chance he could be disqualified from the tournament for doing so, but that was just fine with Harry too, so long as the Goblet didn't curse him for doing so.

That was Harry's plan, and he had only a scant few days to prepare it before the day of the first task. The potion he managed to get right, but the charm proved rather difficult for him. Following the instructions as best he could only resulted in his body partially taking on the hue of his surroundings, resulting in him looking like a blotchy mess of colors. He wondered if it would be better just to abandon it altogether, and stand still to minimize his visibility.

Then the first task finally arrived, and Harry was instructed to meet with the other champions in a tent. They were assigned to randomly draw which dragon they would face; Harry picked a Common Welsh Green. Their task was to steal a golden egg the dragon was guarding. It was a bit easier then fighting the dragon directly, but only just a bit. Harry felt sorry for the other champions if they were attempting to seriously win the tournament. It might end rather painfully for them. He also noticed that no one bothered to check if any of them had ingested potions beforehand. Apparently, cheating was the least of the committee's concerns.

Then it was Harry's turn to meet a dragon. He was directed to the entrance of the Quidditch stadium, which had been converted into an impromptu arena. There, a ways in front of him, was an overgrown green lizard with two wings. It was focused on guarding the eggs it was crouched over, and didn't notice Harry's entrance.

That was the break Harry needed, as he immediately scampered behind a rock where the dragon couldn't see him.

" _Absconde me_ ," Harry whispered, twirling his wand around himself.

Unfortunately, the Disillusionment charm didn't work much better then when he had practiced it, as he only took on a good 70 percent of the colors of his surroundings. If the dragon walked over to him, it still might be able to discern him from the rock. Still, he thought it was better then nothing at all.

Now, there was nothing to do for him but to wait.

So he waited.

The crowd began booing and jeering at him, but Harry cared little for the sounds they made. In a situation where his life wasn't on the line, he might have thought otherwise. He was entirely focused on noticing if the dragon decided to move or look for him. Fortunately, it was content to sit on the eggs without bothering him.

After what felt like an eternity, Harry's allotted time for the task was over, and some wizards moved in to restrain the dragon. Harry was then led into another tent, where the other champions eventually joined him. Krum didn't have a scratch on him, Delacour had a nasty burn on her arm, and Diggory was unconscious and looked like he had been stepped on. Harry winced as they carried him off to tend to his wounds.

Then came the scoring. Harry was the lowest, as only Bagman and Crouch bothered to give him a score above zero. He wasn't that far off from Diggory, however, who hadn't done much better, from the looks of it.

Dumbledore came down to talk to Harry after the event was over.

"I must say, Harry, that you seem to have made a smart choice with your strategy for the task," Dumbledore said. "It was undoubtedly the case that getting past a dragon was beyond your abilities as of now. Better not to risk putting yourself in danger, I think. Unfortunately, as an impartial judge, I couldn't give you a higher score for what you did; I'm afraid your performance was..."

"Terrible?" Harry said.

Dumbledore laughed. "It wasn't up to par, I'm afraid. Then again, we never intended to have fourth years competing, so it would be unreasonable for any of us to expect more out of you. Oh, and a word of advice for your Disillusionment charm; make sure to hold your wrist steady as you spin your wand. A slight disturbance there can make all the difference in the world."

"Thanks," Harry said.

* * *

The first of the three tasks being over with was of great relief to Harry. It didn't stop people from trying to bother him in the halls, sadly, as his performance during the tournament had given them all the more reason to laugh at him. Harry wondered what life for him would be like if he didn't have his invisibility cloak.

The second task was set after winter break, and involved a golden egg that had been given to him (that he was supposed to have taken from the dragon in the first task). Harry tried opening it out of curiosity, only to hear a horrid, ear splitting screeching from it. He closed it and locked it in his trunk, and never bothered with it again.

With the break, however, came a whole new level of stupidity, as Flitwick explained to him in the last Charms class of the year.

"Now, students, I am pleased to announce that the Yule Ball will be held this year, on Christmas night!" Flitwick squealed, jumping up and down on his desk. "For those who don't know, it is a situation where we can celebrate international wizarding cooperation through dancing! All fourth year students and up are invited to attend, although younger students may go if they are invited. Be sure to dress nicely!"

Flitwick turned to look at Harry before continuing. "Also, it is tradition for the Triwizard champions to lead the Ball, with their dance partners. Now-"

"Is the Goblet going to curse me if I don't go?" Harry interrupted.

Flitwick frowned. "Well, no, but-"

"Then I'm not going."

"Mr. Potter, this is a very important occasion to reinvigorate the bonds between the wizarding communities-"

"I'm degrading those bonds just by showing up," Harry said. "I was never supposed to be a champion in the first place. Me being there is an acknowledgement that cheating is okay. Who's going to miss me if I'm gone?"

Flitwick sighed. "Very well. If that is your decision, then I suppose we will have no choice but to accept it."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, for there was no way he would ever willingly go to something like the Yule Ball in his life. For one, it would be near impossible for him to get a dance partner. Not only was he a complete social pariah, but he was no winner in the looks department either. One look in the mirror said it all, really; his hair was messy and a little greasy, his eyes were somewhat bloodshot and always had dark bags underneath them, there was an ugly scar on his forehead, he had the build of a toothpick, his veins bulged through his arms whenever he moved them, his fingernails were always a tad too long, his teeth were always more on the yellow side, and the skin on his hands was cracked and dry. Even if he had done something spectacular to win the first task, the girls of Hogwarts certainly wouldn't be lining up to dance with him.

And there was the matter of his opinion on the Ball, too. Harry couldn't imagine a worse way to spend an evening then just dancing and talking with people. Maybe the food there would be nice, but the food at Hogwarts was already nice enough as it is. Spending the night alone in his dorm with a nice book was the better alternative by leaps and bounds.

So that was what he did. While all the other students went out to dance and have romantic conversations, Harry stayed by himself and read. He wouldn't have had it any other way.


	19. Moody Puts His Foot Down

I was busy.

* * *

The strange behavior of the tournament staff continued as the second task approached. This time, it was Crouch who felt the need to spoil Harry on what the next task was. What was even stranger was Crouch's newfound ability to spot the invisible.

Harry couldn't think of any other explanation for why Crouch was able to spot him when he was wearing the invisibility cloak on the way to his next class, anyway.

"There's something I need to tell you, Potter," Crouch growled, staring at what should have been a patch of empty space to him. "If you'd follow me..."

The scene was uncannily similar to the last time someone on the Triwizard committee had insisted on talking to him. Something was clearly amiss.

"You'll want to know that the second task involves water, Potter," Crouch said. "The lake, in fact. You'd better prepare yourself to go swimming. There's a few potions you would do well to research, if you know what's good for you."

Moody didn't end up following up with additional advice on Crouch's tangent, which Harry didn't care about, as the new task seemed a lot less dangerous then the previous one. So long as he wasn't required to actually get in the lake to participate, he could just sit on the shore and watch the other champions flounder around in the water for a while. It was certainly a huge step down from fighting a dragon, at any rate. It did seem strange that the committee had the first task be more exciting to watch then the second one, unless there was something incredibly interesting about the lake that Harry was missing.

Soon the time came once again for all the schools to gather around a bunch of ill equipped teenagers facing a ridiculous magical challenge. The three other champions brought only their wands, while Harry brought a book to pass the time with. It was a chilly morning, and the lake looked colder and slimier then most of the things living in it. It would take a lot more than 1,000 galleons to convince Harry to go snooping around in there.

The task given to them was to search the lake in an hour to find something 'precious' that had been taken from them. Harry hadn't noticed any of his belongings disappear, so he assumed that the phrase was some kind of stupid metaphor.

Then the champions were marched up to the shore to begin the task. Krum did some kind of transfiguration to make himself into some kind of man shark hybrid, before diving into the water. Delacour summoned a bubble of air around her face, which Diggory hastily imitated before following her into the depths of the lake. Harry was content with disdainfully sticking one toe in the water for a moment, before turning around and sitting down. The crowd absolutely hated that, of course.

It might have been fun to watch what the other champions were doing, but Harry couldn't see anything through the glassy surface of the lake, so he settled into reading further into Slytherin's memoirs.

* * *

 _The creation of my serpent has begun. After dauntless consideration I have now the means and ends for making my basilisk, my faithful servant, to purge this school of the poison residing within it. None of the other scholars know of it; not Ravenclaw, not Hufflepuff, not Gryffindor. This project is for my line alone, as there are no better hands to entrust it with, and no better minds to understand its importance._

 _The process is so simple, so thoughtless, that it is a wonder that so many haven't attempted it before. A hen's egg, a toad, a simple potion; all combined create the king of serpents. And yet, seeing it hatch, I was taken by how fragile the creature looked. An errant step would cleave it in two. I had to remind myself that the beast would grow ferociously with time. Still, I was thankful that the specimen I hatched is female; the males feature a foolish plume atop their heads, and I would care little for a representative of my legacy to so closely resemble a peacock._

 _Right now, the beast does not respond to my attempts to converse with it in the tongue of serpents. It is careless and foolhardy, going places it shouldn't and picking fights it cannot win against the country vermin. I will have to move it to a safer location soon. I have a plan for this, as this castle has many hiding spots for the crafty of mind..._

 _The others have been questioning my growing absences from the school, as there has lately been trouble afoot. A rogue mage has been getting up to trouble, raising the dead from the ground to terrorize the local populations. Such a matter would normally be under Gryffindor's purview, but he cannot find the villain. They say he is crafty, and they want someone equally crafty to go looking for him. I say, to hell with that! Restless cadavers should not be of any concern to those with cunning, as they are as weak as the worms that infest them. Even those born without magic would do well by taking a blade to them. It is of no real concern._

 _Still, I was reminded of my father. When we lived in Zaragoza, his dealings with the moors led to tales of an enchanted sword, given the power to utterly eradicate any sort of unholy devils. Such an artifact would make this mage problem moot... I wonder where that sword is now?_

 _Perhaps, when I have the-_

"TIME!"

Harry looked up from the book, glancing across the lake. From the looks of it, Diggory and Krum had returned from their underwater adventure, each holding onto a rather waterlogged girl. Delacour was nowhere to be seen.

Harry expected that to be end of the task, but the panelists kept on waiting until Delacour eventually showed up, covered with weeds and struggling to keep her girl afloat. Why the task had turned into a girl carrying competition was anyone's guess.

"I should take it that you've forfeited your attempt to retrieve what was taken from you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, a mischievous smile on his face as he strode over from the judge's table.

"Uh, sure," Harry said.

"Very well. I suppose you're curious as to what all this fuss was about, then?"

Without waiting for an answer, Dumbledore raised his wand. After a moment, a duffel bag full of gold burst from the surface of the water.

"The idea was to keep the champions under pressure by placing someone they were close to under the appearance of extreme danger," Dumbledore said. "Unfortunately, we couldn't find anyone that fit the bill for you, so we had to... improvise."

"That isn't my gold, is it?" Harry asked.

"Oh, goodness, no. It's leprechaun gold, as some of our more eager students will be finding out shortly."

Indeed, a number of students had cast summoning charms to try and get some of the gold, only for them to quickly cry out in dismay as it faded away in their hands.

"Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to work on getting the scores figured out. You won't have to stay here much longer," Dumbledore said, before returning to the other judges.

Indeed, it didn't take very long at all for the scores to be awarded. Krum was at the top of the scoreboard, with Delacour and Diggory fighting for second place, and Harry was in dead last. Now there was only one task left to endure.

* * *

Spring came slowly, and with it came yet more ridiculous arithmancy problems that seemed designed to be unsolvable. If it wasn't constantly being mired in trigonometry trying to figure out which direction something was pointing, it was horrendous magical inductance equations that proved to be the worst. It required a thorough knowledge of what materials were being affected by what kind of magic, the dimensions of said material, and then hammering out the result with several gigantic physical constants that made getting a precise answer incredibly difficult.

What was worse was that the equations they were using were only for ideal, symmetric cases. The next year of the course, which promised to use calculus, was terrifying to think about, as Harry did when he caught a glimpse of one of the basic problems from the next year.

M(r, a) = NA ∫(k x da)/(1/r)

Such thoughts were enough to keep his mind away from the third task, which didn't end up being spoiled for Harry. Instead, it seemed whoever was in charge of all the funny business involved with the tournament had decided to take a more direct approach.

It started in one of Moody's classes, when the third task was only a few days away. Once again, Moody requested to talk with Harry after the class had ended. There was something different about him that even Harry, clueless as he was to social cues, could notice. His breathing was much less ragged then it had been before, as if his old age had temporarily stopped bothering him. His magical eye had stopped moving around, and seemed to be having much difficulty staying attached to his face.

"You know what I hate about this generation, Potter?" Moody said, after Harry had sat down in his office.

"No, sir."

"They're all cowards," Moody seethed. "Gutless, spineless, craven idiots. Shortsighted, blind, twits that couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Morornic dullards that would take anything and put it in their mouths if the government told them to. They're worthless. Pathetic! They don't have any balls."

"Uh-"

"In MY day, people weren't like that. They were proud. They were heroic! Whether they were on the right or the wrong side, they still took a stand for what they believed in. The Ministry of Magic was an actual _organization_ , that got things done. They killed most of the giants in Britain. But look at them now!" Moody slammed his fist on the table. "Useless. Look at what crop of fools Hogwarts is putting out now! In my day, we had one of the finest wizarding generations that ever lived. We had the Death Eaters, and we had the Order of the Phoenix. Oh, sure, they were fighting for mudblood filth, but at least they were fighting! Your parents knew that it's better to die on your feet then to live on your knees! But you! You!"

"Sir-"

"In my day, we would be glad to have been given a place in the Triwizard tournament. It would have been an honor for us, and we would have made sure to make our school proud! But you're content to just crawl up in a ball and sit it out. When the Dark Lord returns, you're going to either be hiding under Dumbledore's desk, or fleeing the country! That's what all you and your lousy friends are going to do! It may make our return to power easier, but seeing how things are now makes me _sick_. The Dark Lord better have a plan to whip this country into shape, or..."

Moody paused and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"Uh, pardon me for asking, sir, but are you having a stroke?" Harry asked.

"A what?"

"It's a brain injury, where-"

"Oh, right," Moody snapped. "I forgot you're so clueless that you couldn't have figured out my plan even if I stated half the details right in your face. Well, it doesn't matter. You'll find out soon enough anyway. You're free to go."

Harry quickly got up to leave.

"Just one more thing," Moody said.

"What?"

"Imperio."

* * *

The next few days passed in a blurry haze. Harry couldn't remember any details; only that everything was fine and nothing was worth questioning. The voice in his head told him everything he needed to do, and he did it without thinking. In the blink of an eye he was in front of a hedge maze, waiting for the third task to begin.

" _Hold on a minute. This looks dangerous,_ " a tiny other voice whispered in his head, but he ignored it.

Krum entered first, followed by Diggory and Delacour. Another wait, and it was his turn.

" _Enter the maze,_ " the louder, more confident voice said.

" _Are you sure? What if something goes wrong?_ "

The concerns of the little voice didn't seem important, so Harry stepped in. The sky seemed to darken noticeably as he did so, going from the warm colors of sunset to the ominous colors of twilight.

" _Turn left._ "

" _What if there's something there? We should stay put,_ " the other voice said, now a bit louder then before, although Harry still ignored it.

Around the corner was a grim statue of a knight, who drew his sword as he saw Harry approach.

" _It is weak, designed for students to overcome... the Reductor Curse will do._ "

" _No, no, it isn't worth the risk!_ "

Harry hesitated before bringing up his wand. The statue moved forward...

"R-reducto!"

...and was blasted into pieces.

" _Move forward, through the way it was blocking._ "

" _No, it's too dangerous!_ "

Harry stumbled forward, and then around another corner, when he heard the loud stomping of some creature around another bend.

" _It is of no importance... move on._ "

" _Can't you hear how big that thing is?!_ "

Harry peered around the edge of the hedge, where he was spotted by a massive, grey crab-like creature. It snorted and immediately charged at him.

" _No,_ " the other voice whispered.

" _I had forgotten about Hagrid's little pests. Ah, what did you want to do for these? Forget it. The Killing Curse should suffice._ "

" _No,_ " the other voice said, now firm and resolute.

" _Come on boy, raise you wand..._ "

Harry's arm was shaking so badly he thought he would drop it. Time seemed to grind to a near halt as the beast drew closer and closer.

" _Move, boy!_ "

" _NO!_ " the other voice screamed.

"A... av...," Harry muttered.

" _NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO-_ " _  
_

With a shock, Harry shook his head as the Imperius Curse slipped from his mind. Any relief he felt from that was short lived, as there was now a gigantic crab monster charging at him, and he didn't have Moody's expertise to help him.

Naturally, Harry turned around and ran. Unfortunately, he had spent far too long locked in a mental debate to put enough distance on the crab to get away, as he found out then the thing lunged and bit his leg.

"Agh!" Harry grunted, hitting the ground like a sack of lead. The creature took the opportunity to let loose a jet of fire from its underside, catching the edge of his shoe in the flames.

"Reducto!" Harry yelled, pointing his wand at the intersection of the monster's carapace and underside. The curse only served to push it back a few steps, something which it did not appreciate at all.

A jet of green light abruptly hit the monster from the side, which bounced harmlessly off its shell. It turned around to see Krum, who was staring blankly at the creature. His actions only raised more questions, although Harry wouldn't mind if they weren't answered so long as he got away from the task alive.

"You might want to start running," Harry said.

Krum didn't start running, and fired another spell at the creature, which also had no discernible effect. The creature returned the favor by lunging at Krum.

"This whole thing's out of hand," Harry muttered. "What do to, what to do... what were the safety precautions for this thing?"

Harry tried to remember what he had been told before going into the maze, but the details were rather fuzzy. There was something about... sparks? Sparks would do. Harry knew how to make sparks.

"Incendio!"

A jet of fire hit the top of the bushes, which caught aflame and released a considerable volume of sparks. It then occurred to Harry that lighting the hedges on fire while he was still in a maze of them might not have been the best idea.

"Crap. Which way's the way out?"

Harry painfully got to his feet, and staggered in the opposite direction of the flames. Around another corner was an angry sphinx.

"Look at what you've done," the sphinx said. "Do you have any idea how much time this took to set up? Now it's all going to burn down. I hope you're proud of yourself, young man."

"Maybe I can pay you for this when this is all over," Harry said. "Do you know the quickest way out of the maze?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Dumbledore's set up a failsafe that should be going off right about... now!"

"Wha-"

The world turned black for a second, before Harry found himself laying at the entrance to the maze (which was now glowing an ominous red) with the three other champions. Diggory and Delacour were unconscious, while Krum had several nasty burns on his chest.

Harry blinked, before remembering what had caused all this trouble in the first place.

"It's Moody! He put me under the Imperius Curse!"

Moody stood up from the staff table as soon as his name was mentioned, pointing his wand at Harry.

"Avada-"

He was cut off as several ropes sprouted around him, covering his mouth and restraining his arms.

"That will do for now, I think," Dumbledore said.


	20. An Inconclusive Denouement

The whole business surrounding Moody and the Triwizard Tournament was swiftly resolved by Dumbledore, who took the case much more seriously then anyone else involved in it. It turned out that Moody was, in fact, Barty Crouch Junior, disguised with polyjuice potion as the result of a complicated plot involving Barty Crouch Sr (who was subsequently imprisoned for helping his son escape Azkaban), and allegedly Voldemort as well. That was what Crouch Jr claimed, as he testified that he had been directed by the late dark lord to enact some kind of overly complex plan involving a graveyard, a potion, and a portkey. It seemed as if there were just too many cogs in the whole scheme that had to be spinning just right for it to work, and the failure of several turned the whole thing into an utter disaster.

The idea that Voldemort hadn't died fourteen years ago was one that Harry had a hard time believing. Death was just one of those things magic didn't hold much sway over. It was true that there were a few things that could it back briefly, while the Philosopher's Stone could do so indefinitely, but reversing it altogether seemed impossible. There was no spell Harry knew of, no potion, no magical artifact that could turn a dead man into a living one (albeit as a barely functional fetus looking thing). Harry was much more inclined to believe the Ministry's official explanation; that Crouch was a madman who believed himself to be taking orders a dead man, when in reality he was just listening to the warped whispers of his own frail mind, broken beyond repair from the years he spent in Azkaban.

This theory was aided by what the aurors found when they searched the alleged graveyard that was the center of the whole plan. There was nothing there, no traces of evil magic or anything suspiciously Voldemort shaped.

Dumbledore wasn't content to leave it at that, of course.

"This is a grave sign, Harry," he had said once the investigation had concluded. "While the enemy has failed in its current plan, they will soon be up on their feet again, and they will be looking for you. Now, more than ever, is the time to be cautious."

Harry had also found that to not be a particularly threatening sentiment. The set of circumstances that had allowed for Barty Crouch's silent escape from Azkaban were extremely particular and not likely to happen again. Unless someone like Bellatrix Lestrange managed to get out of there without being spotted, Harry figured he would be safe enough, and the odds of that occurring were ridiculously low.

On a less ominous note, the whole business of the Triwizard Tournament was quite amusing to watch. Considering that the whole thing ended as a total farce, the angry committee spent a week arguing about who, if anyone at all, should be awarded the prize money. Eventually they agreed to split it equally amongst the contestants, although Harry didn't get any, as they first made sure that he was disqualified for being both underage and a "total spoilsport". That was a decision Harry could live with; although he was a little sad he wouldn't be getting some extra money, he was content with having survived the ordeal with little more than a bitten leg.

It was surprising at how quickly things returned to normal after that. The other schools returned to their home countries, the tournament staff was either shipped off to prison or just decided to vacate the school of their own choosing, and people finally stopped bothering Harry about the whole business with the Goblet of Fire. They finally understood he was a young wizard with no advanced knowledge of Charms that would have allowed him to trick the Goblet in the first place. It really said something about the students at Hogwarts, given how many people were genuinely surprised by that information.

Harry hoped that this would finally mark the end of the ridiculous things that had been happening each year involving him, but Eve wasn't convinced that would be the case.

"Think about it," she had said. "You've been here four years, and you've been involved in four events. If there's a fifth year, then there will be a fifth event. It's scientific!"

"Yeah, so what's going to happen next?" Harry said. "Am I going to get an injection of werewolf blood? Will I be given an unlimited use time turner? How many more ridiculous things can happen at this school?"

"Ooh, I know! You could find out the mystery of the dangerous corridor on the third floor-"

"They got rid of that already."

"Or you could investigate the secrets of the Hogwarts founders! You could look for Gryffindor's sword! Do you think I'd look cool if I had that sword?"

"I don't see what use you'd have for a sword, honestly." Harry shrugged. "Anyway, I'm really hoping next year will just be nice and quiet. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Eve frowned. "It sounds boring. What good is a story without any adventure? A good story always has to have some adventures in it."

"You're going to hate this one, then," Harry said, opening his copy of _The Magical History of France._

* * *

With that, there was little more to the year other then exams, and then Harry could spend a nice summer remembering that he had relatives. None of the Dursleys had changed one iota, of course, and sent Harry off to do chores where they didn't have to look at him. It was only a few more years before Harry could leave them behind and get a job in the wizarding world... although the idea of staying there for a couple extra years to avoid paying any rent seemed somewhat palatable. Doing so would make the Dursleys completely correct when they complained about Harry being a freeloader, but he didn't really care about that.

So time passed without much distinguishing one day from the next. Soon summer break was close to ending, and Harry could go back to Hogwarts once again. It was on one of those suffocatingly warm summer evenings August often provided that he had trouble falling asleep. After a great deal of tossing and turning and trying to stay cool (without using magic, of course), he found himself once again in an unfamiliar place, watching an unfamiliar scene.

"You'll have to wait a moment longer, Nagini."

That was a voice that sounded like it was bored a lot. It came from behind a chair with its back to Harry, at the front of a large oval table. It was in an expensively decorated, but gloomily colored room, with all sorts of glittering golden trinkets and sculptures contrasting with how badly lit the place was.

"Our friends are dawdling, as they usually do," the voice continued. "Owing to my condition, they know they can get away with not putting their utmost efforts into our cause. Soon, that will change. Soon."

He turned out to be right on the money, for there was suddenly a series of loud cracks as several wizards apparated into the room. Two were men, with one owning an impressive mane of blond hair, while the other man appeared to be losing what little hair he had left, with the results leaving him in a sour mood. The last was a woman who looked extremely terrified.

"Late again, Lucius," the voice said.

"Forgive me, my lord," the blond man said. "We were held up in the Ministry yet again. The auror, Dawlish-"

"Excuses don't concern me. Surely you know why I wanted to speak with you tonight?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Oh, and bring your son down here. I daresay he'll enjoy what I have to say..."

"Draco!" Lucius shouted. "Come down here at once!"

There was the sound of hurried footsteps before a familiar looking boy scurried to join them. What was so familiar about him, anyway? Then Harry remembered; he was that kid who kept bugging him about that weird diary, Draco M-something. Harry wondered if he ever ended up getting that book back.

"Now, I'd like for you to inform me of whether you've finally devised a way to infiltrate Hogwarts," the voice said, turning that chair somewhat to the side as he began speaking. Harry expected to see some kind of intimidating adult sitting there, but instead, there was only some ugly thing's face wrapped in a bundle of cloth, and it was tiny, too. Surely, the other wizards had fallen on hard times if they were referring to this thing their lord.

"Remember that I have been overtly generous by granting you an additional month to come up with a plan," the strange creature said. "I don't take kindly to being disappointed, as Wormtail would be happy to tell you about..."

There was a moment of silence, which Draco hesitantly broke.

"Actually, sir, I believe there is a way. It's just-"

"What is it?," the creature asked. "I want details before I want to hear you begging for more time."

Draco gulped. "Well, i-it's this thing we bought from Knockturn Alley. A set of cabinets-"

"Cabinets?" The creature looked incredulous.

"Vanishing cabinets, yes. I know they lead into Hogwarts because I saw a man end up there after he fell in on the other side. The problem is, it's too unstable to use right now-"

"Then I trust you will have it ready before the year ends."

"Of course, m-my lord."

"You are nervous?" the creature crooned. "Then, for your sake, I hope that it is because you fear failing me, and not because you are regretting my presence here."

"It's nothing of the sort," the woman said. "Our son could not be prouder to be serving you, my lord."

"As he should be."

The creature then turned to the balding man.

"MacNair, would you be so kind as to send a message to gather up the old friends? The ones that aren't rotting in Azkaban? I believe we'll have more matters to discuss later tonight..."

Then the scene faded away and Harry awoke, wondering why he had dreamed about a hideous gremlin hissing at a bunch of dullards.


	21. Intermission

The new term at Hogwarts brought with it a whole world of promise, for it was the first time in quite a while that it didn't start off with some ridiculous and silly things happening to drive everyone crazy. There was no stupid book signing with Lockhart, no escaped prison convicts to terrify anyone; it was just shaping up to be a perfectly normal year at the school. Good old Remus Lupin was even returning to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, which might have meant more to Harry if he had any real interest in the course. He was satisfied that Lupin was probably not going to turn out to be an insane man in disguise. If that scheme happened twice in a row... Harry couldn't imagine how disappointed he would feel if someone got away with that.

With good things came bad things, as usual, as the fifth year at Hogwarts was OWL year. The funkily named tests determined if each student was qualified to continue taking their current courses into the 'NEWT' level (Harry still didn't know what that actually meant). Of course, the Arithmancy and Transfiguration tests were supposedly the ones you really had to fear. It would just be out of the question for the hardest tests to be for Care of Magical Creatures or Muggle Studies.

There was a silver lining to all the studying and work the tests demanded, however. Once Harry was done with the term, he could finally stop taking most of his classes, and dedicate his time exclusively to the courses that would be required for whatever profession he chose. Harry was heavily leaning towards a job involving potions, since he found making them to be quite easy and relaxing. He'd have to pass up on being a Healer or an Auror, since both jobs would be far too stressful for him to perform adequately, but working at a store somewhere in Diagon Alley seemed like a pleasant way to support himself. He'd have to look into what opportunities were there at some point.

So it was with those thoughts in mind that Harry strode off to the gleaming red Hogwarts Express for another year of magical debauchery. The ride there was smooth and silent, and the ceremonies once the students arrived were quick and uneventful, which was just how Harry liked them. Everything seemed normal for a change; what a lovely concept!

Harry's good mood was quickly tempered when he learned just what some of his classes expected him to do for the year. It started with Arithmancy, where Professor Vector wanted them to spend the whole year working on a spell modification (this being the dreaded 5th year project the older students occasionally whispered about).

"Now that we've spent the last two years practicing the theory behind it, it's time to begin the practical applications of spell creation," Vector had said on the very first day of class. "Each of you will be expected to modify an existing spell to have it produce discernibly different effects. You must also be able to provide and explain all the mathematical reasoning for why your spell works the way it does. I will give extra points for any modified spells that also have a new and practical use added to them, although I do not expect most of you to accomplish such a task. You may work in groups of two, and I recommend that you do so if you want to finish the project in a timely manner."

Harry, of course, elected to work entirely by himself. The extra work wasn't going to be fun, but it sure beat having to talk to one of his classmates.

As for what spell to modify, Harry figured a good place to start would be with a water summoning charm, _Aguamenti_. It was good for its intended purpose of summoning water, but wizards often used it as their first choice for fighting fires as well. A wizard trying to put out a gas or chemical fire was a complete disaster waiting to happen. Thus, replacing the water summoned by the charm with the kind of foams used in fire extinguishers would make for a much safer and more reliable method of stopping fires for panicking wizards. He also thought that just replacing the materials created by the spell would be a lot easier then changing how it arced, or how it interacted with other magic spells.

(The more devious part of Harry's mind thought of a reversal of the problem. By replacing the regular fire in _Incendio_ with napalm, one could create a much deadlier and damaging fire charm, as well.)

It seemed a simple enough task, but then Harry got a good look at the equations behind the spell...

 _M = w(∫∫l·dz + ∫∫dv)_

 _AW = ∇xE_

 _dt = (dM√2)(dx+5)_

He felt he'd be lucky if he was able to make the water from the spell point in a slightly different direction by the end of the year. Suddenly, spell crafting didn't seem like much fun at all.

It wasn't just Vector who was upping the ante in regards to the year's coursework, too. McGonagall and Snape were always looking for excuses to throw more essay questions at them in addition to their constant barrage of regular assignments. Lupin was no slouch either, expecting them to know a growing number of defensive and offensive dueling spells that they would probably never use outside of the classroom. Even the Muggle Studies teacher was acting like her class wasn't a total joke. All in all, it left Harry with little time for talking with Eve (who was still convinced that _something_ was bound to happen, sooner or later) or just reading for fun.

Still, despite how everything was quite normal, there was a part of Harry that felt the need to check behind his back every now and then, just to be safe. It was because of what had happened last year, of course. Sure, strange things had happened at Hogwarts before, but it was only then that he had actually been a direct target of a malicious plot, rather then just an ignored bystander. Unlikely as it was that something of the kind would happen again.. it left him feeling just a bit nervous.

Thankfully, Halloween, a day that usually was host to a number of unfortunate events at the school, passed without incident. It gave Harry a little more confidence that everything would turn out just fine, although he could not fully banish such fears from his mind.

In the meantime, fifth year students were forced to go to career counseling with their respective head of House. Flitwick took the time to offer Harry a very interesting opportunity.

"Now, Harry, I've noticed that you've been consistently scoring very high in your History of Magic classes," Flitwick began.

"So what does that mean, sir?" Harry asked.

"Well, Harry, I don't know if you've noticed, but a lot of our students have been expressing their distaste with dear Professor Binns for many years now. Dumbledore has been looking for someone to replace him for quite a while, but there are very few students who go on to study history at the NEWT level."

"So you want me to be your new history teacher?"

"If you'd just consider it, then we'd all appreciate it. I believe that the abysmal knowledge of magical history among many of our students, especially the ones from non magical families, is in no small part to having to learn from a ghost." Flitwick sighed. "I know you aren't the most energetic individual, but I'm still convinced you would do better than Binns."

"Won't Binns be disappointed, though, if he just gets fired? Then what's he going to do?" This question was driven more out of curiosity then anything else, since a ghost without a home was an unusual sight to wizards.

"Perhaps he would care, if he still had a heart left to feel with!" Flitwick laughed. "Really, I don't know what goes through his mind, or if there's even a mind in there at all. If worst comes to worst, we might have to shoo him away, but I think he'll be content to just stay within the castle grounds."

"Well, I'll think about it," Harry said. "Now, what opportunities are out there involving potions?"

* * *

Becoming a Hogwarts teacher was a very intriguing proposition. One on hand, it offered security, since it seemed like no one else was competing for the position. Not only that, but it came with a beautiful, yet free living space in the form of Hogwarts castle, complete with a meal plan. It was also based around a topic that Harry was quite interested in.

But on the other hand, teaching would mean talking to students. Lots and lots of students, given that History of Magic was mandatory up to the fifth year. Talking with people younger then him for a living seemed like an absolute chore, even if they wouldn't be responding to him a lot of the time. Talking, grading essays, talking with the other staff; the job could easily turn out to be a nightmare wrapped in the guise of a happy dream.

For the time being, Harry figured he would continue taking History of Magic in his sixth year, and see how things went from there.

* * *

Harry continued to advance through Slytherin's memoirs, when he wasn't busy reading wave equations that made him want to crack his skull open. What was quite intriguing was the relationship between Slytherin and Gryffindor, who were more often remembered as mortal enemies instead of the friends they once were.

 _Gryffindor injured himself dueling again. Normally I find his anxiousness to fight regrettable, but this time he has struck for a righteous cause. Murdoch, a mage from a village two score south, had felt the need to make a movement on Gryffindor's wife. If I had been in his place I would have drawn my wand like fire before a spilled lamp. But Gryffindor didn't use his wand, instead cleaving the man in two with his own sword. A marvelous creation, that weapon! A pity it was made by goblins, the filthy things. It is symbolic of the wizards triumph that Gryffindor took it from them and imparted his own enchantments on it, allowing him to take it into battle even if it were not on his person. A wand is a more powerful tool still, but a sudden slash from an unforeseen blade would catch even the most experienced sorcerer off guard._

 _It is well that I have my own basilisk growing contentedly beneath the school. Perhaps, with its venom, the sword could be made stronger, more deadly, more resilient. An unexpected gift, perhaps! I'm sure he will find it quite useful. But I will have to find a reason to have obtained such venom first._

 _I've also thought about the creation of a magic item of my own. I've often felt it important to know the feelings of the foe before trying to discern their thoughts with magic, but magically telling the feelings of a man covered by a helmet is now an impossible task. It would be possible to create an artifact to read those feelings from people using magic, but I have never seen it done before. So, let me be the first! I could make the item an innocent piece of jewelry, a locket perhaps, so my enemies will not know that I can hear their feelings, their fears..._

That 'innocent piece of jewelry' would fit well into the myth of each Founder having their own special magical item. Gryffindor's sword, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem, and now Slytherin's locket. Such items, if they had existed, had almost certainly been lost to the ravages of time long ago... but Harry felt it was worth asking someone who had been alive then, just to be sure.

"Eve? Are you there?" Harry called out, wandering out onto the grounds.

The giant snake swung around a corner and met him face to face. "Of course I'm here! Where else would I be? I'm off duty! Probably."

"Uh, sure. Hey, listen, do you remember when you used to hang around with Slytherin?"

"Of course I do! Like it was several days before yesterday, but not too many days before that, because that would mean I didn't quite remember it clearly enough to be very-"

"Did Slytherin ever carry a locket, or some other kind of jewelry on his person?"

"A locket, you say?" Eve asked, trying very hard to make an inquisitive face. "What's a locket?"

Harry sighed. "Did Slytherin ever carry a little clasp thing around his neck that opened and closed, and was probably golden or silver colored?"

"Oh, that thing! He never let me play with it. But that doesn't matter now, because now I can play with giant balls of string instead!"

"You wouldn't happen to know where it ended up, then?"

"Nope! He took it with him when he left the school. What does it do, anyway?"

"It sells for a lot of money, I'd imagine. Not that it matters at this point."

"Aww, don't tell me you're just giving up!" Eve said. "Surely, we could find it if we just believed in ourselves."

"That's what all the bumbling artifact hunters tell themselves every day they spend digging through ancient junk piles. Optimism only gets you so far, after all." Harry yawned. "I'm going to bed, I think."

"That's a shame. You haven't even told me how you learned about this lockette!"

"Another day, maybe..."

Harry took his usual path from the grounds to Ravenclaw tower, which he had determined to be the quickest from experience. He hadn't gotten far before he found one corridor blocked by a bunch of people wearing strange metal masks. Was this some kind of prank? Harry wasn't in the mood for pranks, and probably never would be.

"Uh, hello? I'm trying to get through here-"

All of a sudden, the masked people raised their wands in unison.

"Stupefy!"


	22. Catastrophe

The sensation of being awakened from sleep by an external disruption is never a pleasant one. Even if it becomes a familiar occurrence, there is always that burst of fear as the mind recognizes that it has been caught unawares, and pumps the body full of needles to get it running and up to speed. Man was designed to wake primarily from gradients, the rising and falling of the sun, with surprise interruptions handled as emergencies. Living with an alarm clock was a task that the brain could never fully acquiesce to.

Especially if that alarm clock was a midget albino man with a thirst for vengeance so misplaced that it had ended up in an entirely different country.

"He stirs! It seems our guest has finally decided to join the conversation."

Harry blearily regained his senses and opened his eyes. Where was he? It probably wasn't a good sign that he was forced to ask that question. The room slowly came into focus. It was poorly lit, yet opulent, with a small white thing glaring at him from a chair- no, he had seen this before.

 _That dream was real, wasn't it? What are the odds...?_

There wasn't any question about it. He had somehow dreamed of plans made to kidnap him far away, and he hadn't done anything about it. He hadn't told Dumbledore, or any of the other teachers, or even bothered to study a little more in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had completely screwed up and now he was stuck with the results of his actions.

"Welcome back, Harry Potter," the small creature said in a mocking tone. "We've been expecting you for quite some time, but you haven't had the common decency to join us. So, I'm afraid we had to bring the party to you."

The creature's words meant little to Harry, who was much more concerned with escaping then he was with trying to discern whatever its plan was. Of course, there was nothing Harry could do at the moment. He was tied to a chair, and his wand was nowhere to be found. A glance around the room showed that there were a bunch of nasty faces sitting in front of him, watching him to make sure he didn't break free. None of them were people he recognized, except for one pale blond boy, who he last remembered discussing a secret way to get inside of Hogwarts.

 _Well, thanks for completely screwing me over, whatever your name is. What did I ever do to you to deserve this? If I get out of this alive, I swear I'll make you pay for this. Somehow._

"Perhaps you're wondering who I am, and why you've been taken here?" the creature drawled. "Well, I think it will become abundantly clear to you in just a few moments. Goyle, if you'd please?"

One of the men rose up and briefly left the room, returning with a large iron pot, which was placed in front of the strange pale thing.

"I originally had something more grand in scope planned for our meeting, but things didn't quite work out, did they?" There was a flash in the creature's eyes as it quickly glanced to one of the other men at the table. "But it is no matter. What we have now will do quite nicely. The potion is nearly ready. All we need is the blood. Macnair?"

Another man strode over to Harry, and quickly cut his arm with a knife. It was a shallow cut, posing no real danger to Harry, but it still stung quite a lot. Macnair then took the blood and poured it in the pot.

"And now, I am reborn," the creature said, before it was magically thrown into the pot. A great deal of smoke rose around it, covering it from view. When the smoke faded, the creature was no more, for it had been replaced by a man, covered by a featureless dark robe.

"Are you afraid, Potter?" the man hissed. "You should be, for the Dark Lord has returned."

Harry was afraid, but he couldn't say it was because he was looking at Voldemort. The books he had read described Voldemort as being the kind of figure that would inspire terror: quiet, vindictive, covered by darkness, with burning red eyes hidden behind a silver mask. But what Harry saw was a man who liked to brag, with a hideous chalk white face with strange looking nostrils. Voldemort didn't look like the Dark Lord he made himself out to be, he looked like a crazy homeless person who had found his way into a wizard themed biker's gang by accident. If Harry hadn't been tied to a chair and left completely at the mercy of the people in the room, he doubted that he would feel afraid at all. Of course, looks could often be deceiving.

"Thirteen years, Potter," Voldemort said, sitting back down in the chair again. "For thirteen years I was nothing but a fragment of a spirit, embroiled in constant agony as I struggled to keep myself intact. Thirteen years of torment, all because I once forgot to account for an old type of magic. It was love, love that your worthless mother offered for you before I killed her. It was that love that destroyed me when I tried to kill you, as well. But that won't be of any concern to me any longer. With your blood, that protection belongs to me now."

Harry couldn't understand why that detail was so important. If Harry was still shielded by that old love magic, then why would Voldemort not just have one of his servants kill him? Surely, he wasn't that megalomaniacal? (It was probably best not to answer that question)

"It was thanks to Wormtail that I was given a body once again, even if it was a form too weak to do much with. Wormtail, the most cowardly and worthless of my servants, did what the others could not... it was hardly my finest hour."

"But I did have a body and servant to aid me. I created a plan to enlist another of my followers and capture you, Potter. To complete my resurrection, I needed the blood of a foe, and your blood would prevent that foolish love magic from protecting you. I thought my plan would work, but as I'm sure you know, there were some things left accounted for. That the Potter's son would not have his parent's foolish arrogance running through his veins, and that my other servant would be incapable of managing a simple Imperius curse on a child... he is in Azkaban now, but he should count himself lucky that he isn't in this room right now. Lord Voldemort does not tolerate failures."

Voldemort stood again, in an over dramatic fashion, and began pacing around the room.

"So I had been foiled, and Dumbledore had been alerted to my presence, even if the rest of the fools in the wizarding world didn't acknowledge it. Not only that, but I had also learned that Slytherin's old serpent had fallen into the wrong hands, along with one of my most prized possessions." Voldemort glared at a blonde haired man as he said this. "Lucius had a lot to own up for, didn't he? If it weren't for the influence he holds inside the Ministry of Magic, then I doubt he would be standing before you right now. Faithless and careless as he is, he still has uses..."

"I had been foiled, and my old hiding spots were no longer safe. I knew my old enemies would know to look in Albania, where I had once hidden, once gathered my strength. I needed a new base of operations, where Dumbledore couldn't touch me. I knew it was time to visit some _old friends_."

Voldemort swept his arms out, glancing at all of the people sitting at the table in turn.

"All of the wizards you see before you had once sworn absolute loyalty to me, and then turned to the other side the instant I had fallen, claiming bewitchment and trickey. They were punished... all of them. Some still ended up in Azkaban, betraying their comrades even before the hot irons were pressed to their skin. They will suffer too, no doubt. For the few who did not turn on me, even in the face of my apparent death, they will be rewarded. Most certainly..."

"Still, these dissenters were still willing to join the old cause once again. They presented me with the opportunity to capture Harry Potter, and the Dark Lord always rewards his most valuable followers. Come forth, Draco Malfoy!"

Malfoy got up and walked close to Voldemort, looking like he would rather be anywhere else instead of being where he currently was.

"Draco here came up with the most ingenious ploy for getting access to Hogwarts. A couple of enchanted artifacts provided an untraceable, two way connection from Borgin and Burkes to the room where all things are hidden. That old fool, Dumbledore, never would have seen it coming. Draco, it is time for your reward. Kneel, and show us your arm."

Malfoy got on his knees and rolled up his sleeves, while Voldemort drew his wand.

"Draco Malfoy, do you pledge your undying and unwavering loyalty to the Dark Lord Voldemort? To promote the rule of wizards pure in blood, and to eliminate the corruption festering within our society? To subjugate the wretched masses of muggles beneath the might of magic?"

"I-I do," Malfoy stuttered, although his expression suggested that he felt he was making a huge mistake.

"Fellow Death Eaters, I ask you to accept the newest member of our group. He has provided us with precious insight that has let us accomplish that which would be impossible otherwise. He is resourceful and cunning, and he deserves the mark of our organization as much as any other. _Purgo_!"

There was a bright flash, and Malfoy screamed in pain, clutching his arm as a dark green patch began to grow and take form on his skin. It was an infant Dark Mark.

 _How quaint._

"And now, it is time to talk with our _guest_." Voldemort turned to Harry. "How are you feeling right now, Potter, knowing that your mother and Dumbledore aren't here to save you now? Tragic, isn't it? It seems that the Boy Who Lived will turn out to be quite an oxymoron. What do you think?"

Voldemort looked as if he wanted Harry to respond this time. What was he supposed to say? He was terrified that he was strapped to a chair in a room with an insane person and a bunch of lackeys who could kill him at any moment. Would articulating that make a difference? What was the point of all this? He just wanted to be back at Hogwarts, or at the Dursleys, or anywhere else but in the poorly lit house filled with murderers. What did Voldemort have against him?

"I'm scared," Harry mumbled unintelligibly.

"Louder, Potter," Voldemort crooned. "We can't hear you."

"I'm scared."

"Isn't that a shame. You're afraid. Well, you're going to die afraid, then. Stand up." Voldemort moved his wand, and Harry felt the ropes binding him to the chair fall away.

Harry stood up, not wanting to learn the consequences for disobeying Voldemort.

"Tell me, Potter, have you ever learned to duel? I think a wizard's duel between us is in order, for I know there are still those few among us who believe your prior victory was not a fluke. What better was to disprove them by killing you right here, right now, in a fair fight? Give him his wand back, Lucius. As for the rest of you, I want none of you to interfere."

Getting his wand back was no comfort to Harry, as he couldn't see how he would manage to best Voldemort in a duel under any circumstances. Voldemort had dedicated entire decades to learning and practicing the whole range of the Dart Arts; all Harry could do was cough up a weak shield charm, at best. If it came down to a fight, he was dead. He had to take a risk trying to talk his way out of the situation.

"I haven't been taught that, but-"

"But what, Potter?" Voldemort said.

"I... well... you got what you wanted, didn't you? You're resurrected, and you have the blood protection. I mean, I can promise not to hurt any of you. I can promise to run away from here. I can make an Unbreakable Vow. Just, justpleasedon'tkillme. Please-"

Voldemort started laughing, even though there was nothing remotely funny about the situation. "Is this what we are being presented with? Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, is begging for his life? Why, you parents would be so disappointed. They were brave before their deaths, but you... you're no different from Wormtail. I'm sure Dumbledore will be delighted to hear about it..."

Harry didn't care if he was dishonoring his parent's memory; he just wanted to live. Not that it seemed like his words would make a difference.

"But there is another element of treachery to your words as well," Voldemort continued. "You stand before me, claiming innocence of plotting against us, yet your past suggests otherwise. You opened the Chamber of Secrets, and led my basilisk astray, into the hands of the enemy. I don't know how you learned parseltongue, Potter, but what you did with it made you a powerful enemy. Now, see how Voldemort deals with enemies. Draw your wand, Potter."

Harry took his wand out,. Now he was going to die for sure. It was just a question of how and when it would happen.

"We bow to each other before dueling, Potter. Bow..."

Harry bowed. The other Death Eaters in attendance hurried to the corners of the room, probably trying to avoid any possible collateral damage from the duel.

"And now, we fight."

Voldemort flicked his wand and sent a spiraling golden light hurtling towards Harry. Harry dove beneath the table, which crumpled when the spell came in contact with it.

"Come out, Potter. Come out and die like a man."

Voldemort send out another spell, which took the form of a slow moving and silent light blue projectile. This time Harry ran through a door into a hallway. The light blue spell silently exploded in the room with the table, in a manner that was quite unnerving.

"I don't have time for hide and seek, Potter."

A swarm of flies went flying towards the door. Harry quickly stepped backwards, but was still caught off guard when the swarm suddenly exploded on contact with the hallway wall, and covered the edges of his arms in cuts.

"If you come out here, Potter, then I promise you a swift death. The longer you keep running away, the longer we'll have to torture you first. You wouldn't like that, now would you?"

No spells followed Voldemort's words, so Harry had a few moments to consider his options. There weren't many. He could try to keep running through the house in hopes of finding a way out and escaping on foot, but the odds of him getting away from Voldemort in such a fashion were practically nonexistent. He could go back in the room and get killed by Voldemort. Or, he could try to fight Voldemort, and almost certainly die in the process. Voldemort could cast spells near instantaneously and nonverbally, and knew a whole lot more spells then Harry did. What curses could Harry use that Voldemort couldn't instantly block with a shield?

Well, there were three curses Harry knew of that he might be able to hurt Voldemort with. The three Unforgivables. The ones that only needed strong intent to work, without years of studying wand motions or incantations to perfect them. The ones that were a right pain in the ass to deflect with magic barriers.

The Cruciatus Curse seemed to be the one that would help Harry the least. He didn't have the kind of sadistic mindset to really make it painful enough to cripple Voldemort, and without that benefit, it was just an excuse for the other Death Eaters to try killing him as well.

The Killing Curse was a bit more promising. Harry might have been able to summon the kind of righteous anger needed to fuel the spell. If he aimed well, then he could potentially catch Voldemort off guard and kill him. But if he missed, or if Voldemort just blocked it with a chair, then he wouldn't bother toying around with Harry any more, and just immobilize him with a quick petrifying curse Harry couldn't block. And even if Harry did kill Voldemort that way, the other Death Eaters would never let him leave alive... assuming he could make the curse work in the first place, which was still wasn't something he'd bet on.

Then there was the Imperius Curse. Harry was scared and desperate, and he could leverage those feelings into a powerful curse. If he could control Voldemort's mind, then maybe he could bargain his way out of the situation. Perhaps by disarming Voldemort and holding him hostage, he could get another Death Eater to get him back to Hogwarts. That was a big if. Voldemort was one of the most skilled wizards out there, and Harry doubted he would be easy to subdue.

But there was another factor to consider. From what Harry had read on the man, Voldemort had always been a paranoid kind of leader, who would never have truly trusted his subordinates. He had also never engaged in a duel with someone he considered his equal. Putting those two facts together, it seemed certain that Voldemort had never had the Imperius curse cast on him before, since he never would have let any of his followers do it, nor would he have allowed any opponent he faced to get the opportunity to cast it. And Harry remembered, in the classes that Crouch as Moody had taught, that even the people who had resisted the Imperius the most still struggled mightily the first time they had been exposed to it. Perhaps even Voldemort would be susceptible to it, too. Perhaps Voldemort would still want to play around with Harry and would let him cast the spell without interrupting him. It wasn't much to go on, but Harry was desperate and it was the best plan he could think of.

Harry took a deep breath, and walked back into the room.

"So you did change your mind! I did not think it likely, Potter. Say hello to your parents for me!"

Harry and Voldemort both raised their wands.

"Avada Ked-"

"Imperio!"

(In that moment, Harry was extremely grateful that the incantation for the Imperius curse was as short as it was.)

Harry felt a burning sensation in his right arm, which began shaking uncontrollably. There was a connection there to Voldemort's mind, but it was weak and fading fast. Still, it was there, and Harry knew what to say.

 _DROP YOUR WAND DROP YOUR WAND DROP YOUR WAND_

Voldemort's grip around his wand loosened, but didn't completely slip. A few more seconds would do it, but Harry didn't know if he had a few more seconds.

Time agonizingly dripped forward. The white fingers slowly, ever so slowly curled away. The wand began to fall; then the connection broke, and Voldemort was quickly reaching for it. But he wasn't fast enough.

"Accio wand!"

Voldemort's wand sailed right over to Harry while Voldemort looked on in shock. The other Death Eaters drew their wands.

"Don't move!" Harry shouted, keeping his wand trained on Voldemort. "Don't move or I'll kill him!"

The Death Eaters stopped moving. It was a bluff, but it was a bluff they were likely to take seriously after they had seen Harry disarm their master.

"I'm going to count to three. If you don't put your wands down, I'll kill him. One, two..."

The Death Eaters lowered their wands.

Harry paused for a moment, trying to calm himself. To get out alive, he would have to handle his actions very carefully. He picked up Voldemort's wand from the floor with his other hand.

"You," Harry said, pointing Voldemort's wand at the Death Eater named Lucius. "You'll take me to... the Ministry of Magic, using side along apparition."

Harry had no intention of going to the Ministry of Magic, nor did he think Lucius would take him there. Giving him free reign of the situation would certainly lead to him being taken to some dark place in the woods where they'd cut his head off.

Keeping his wand pointed at Voldemort, Harry moved his other arm so that his mouth was partially obscured while Voldemort's wand was still pointed at Lucius.

"Imperio," Harry whispered.

Unlike Voldemort, Lucius proved very easy to subjugate, so much so that there was no change in his physical motions as the curse took hold of him.

 _Take me to the Hogwarts grounds. Take me to the Hogwarts grounds._

Lucius grabbed Harry's arm, and turned on the spot, and the house faded away as Harry felt a sudden crushing sensation surround him. For a moment, it lingered, and then they were at the gates of Hogwarts.

Harry let out of a sigh of relief and sank to the ground. He had, somehow, survived the ordeal. Somehow, he was still alive.

"Ahh..."

Lucius was stirring, as Harry had lost his focus, and the curse had faded. He didn't think he could muster up another one, so instead, he gave Lucius a stiff kick in the shins.

"Gah! Why, you little-"

" _Per-pertrificus-totalus_."

Harry's arm was shaking so hard the spell only afflicted half of Lucius's body, while the other half fumbled for his wand.

"Per- ugh, what am i doing? _Stupefi_!"

A jet of red light hit Lucius and pushed him to the ground. Harry must have messed it up somehow, because he wasn't unconscious, only drowsy.

"It'll have to work. _Lin- Winguardium Lev-Leviosa_."

Harry began walking towards the castle, with Lucius in tow. He knew, then, in the back of his mind, that despite his brief victory over Voldemort, that his troubles had only just begun. That things were only going to get worse.


	23. Prophetic Trials

Harry had walked up from the grounds to the castle many times before, but he could never recall doing so at night. The absence of the sun made Hogwarts turn from quaint and inviting to eerie and imposing, a huge dark structure surrounded by black forests. Such a sight would not have been out of place in one of those old horror stories, where a evil count stalked the local village with his vampiric or wolfish powers. Perhaps it was simply the circumstances that were making Harry think such thoughts, as he was half expecting a Death Eater who had stayed behind at the school to jump him at any moment.

The cold fall air, which was already in the midst of transitioning into winter, did little to improve his mood. A chilly wind was blowing, which just made all the cuts Harry had received sting more. They weren't dangerous at all, and it seemed that they were only inflicted with the desire to cause constant irritation. Harry supposed he was lucky to have avoided the Cruiciatus curse.

The front doors of Hogwarts were locked, but Harry didn't have to wait for long before someone saw him. There was a brief delay before Snape opened the doors.

"Potter! What happened to you?" Snape asked.

"It... was... Voldemort," Harry said, glancing behind him every few seconds. "He's... he's back... now."

"You mean- the Dark Lord-" Snape paused, and rubbed his left arm before continuing. "We must see the headmaster at once."

It was as good an idea as any. Snape conjured a set of ropes around Lucius, before guiding him to Dumbledore's office.

"I've found him, Dumbledore," Snape said, as he reached the two stone gargoyles. "But I'm afraid the worst that we feared has come to pass."

The gargoyles moved aside as the door swung in, and an anxious looking Dumbledore beckoned them inside.

"I fear time is of the essence, Snape," Dumbledore said. "No doubt Voldemort will be calling for you soon. If you have prepared yourself..."

Snape nodded.

"Good. If you could inform the rest of the staff that we've found Harry, then everything should be in order. I'll tell the rest of the Order about this."

As Snape turned to leave, Dumbledore summoned a patronus, a bright silver phoenix, and sent it flying out the window. He then turned to face Harry, silently casting a spell to close the cuts on Harry's arms.

"Now, Harry. I understand that you must have recently gone through some very stressful events, but it is of vital importance that you tell me all that has happened to you for the past hour. If you are not fit to speak, however, there is a pensieve you could use-"

"I can... talk," Harry said, although he couldn't stop shivering, despite how warm Dumbledore's office was.

"Very well, if that is what you prefer."

So, Harry dove into what had happened after the Death Eaters kidnapped him. There wasn't much to tell, really. Voldemort had taken his mother's protection and returned amongst the living, and Harry had managed to escape with another Death Eater because Voldemort had deliberately handicapped himself during their duel. The other Hogwarts teachers had walked in midway through the story, and listened with utmost fascination.

"And you still have Voldemort's wand?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded.

"May I see it?"

Harry handed it over to Dumbledore, who performed a couple of murmured spells that conjured ghostly images of prior spells the wand had performed.

"So he used those curses? By Voldemort's standards, that was quite merciful... At any rate, this whole business about the vanishing cabinets is quite disturbing. But I think we have a method to find out where it is. Snape? Do you have our supply of Veritaserum?"

Snape nodded, and reached into his robes and drew out a vial of clear liquid.

"I think our Death Eater friend Harry has captured for us will be able to fill us in on all the details we need to keep Hogwarts safe from any similar incursions Voldemort may attempt to make. You see, Harry, his name is Lucius Malfoy, and I have no doubt that his son would have told him all the details of how he managed his plan to kidnap you." Dumbledore manipulated Lucius into a seating position in a chair. " _Ennervate_."

Lucius stirred, fear creeping into his stern face as he began to recognize where he was. "What is the meaning of-"

"The meaning of this, Mr. Malfoy, is that you have been complicit in allowing a great evil to take place tonight," Dumbledore said, his voice icy and demanding. "For that, you will tell us everything you know that will be useful in preventing further events of a similar nature, and then you will be lawfully judged for your crimes. Give him the potion, Snape."

Lucius was helpless to do anything as Snape forced the potion down his throat.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy, I have some questions for you. Where are the vanishing cabinets you used to infiltrate Hogwarts located?"

"One is in Borgin and Burkes," Lucius said, his face twitching. "The other is in the Room of Requirement. To get there, you go to a seventh floor corridor, and walk back in forth in front of a wall three times, while wishing for something you are in need of."

"Where was Harry taken to tonight, when the Death Eaters kidnapped him?"

"My house."

"What kind of protective spells are in place for it?"

The twitching got worse. "Nothing beyond what our family had already put in place. Just some simple curses for hiding artifacts and keeping some doors locked. The Dark Lord did not wish to attract undue attention."

"How many Death Eaters were present at your house tonight?"

"Several. Goyle, Avery, Macnair, Nott, and my son. There were others, who would come on other nights..."

"For now, that will do," Dumbledore said, standing up. "There will be time for more questions later. Now is the time for action. I will be leading a raid on Malfoy's house tonight. Minerva, you must keep watch for any threats that might try and attack the school. Several of my people will be arriving shortly to assist you in Hogsmeade. The barman of the Hog's Head will be able to verify their identities. Snape, you must stay alert for when he calls for you. The rest of you, follow Minerva's orders. And Harry should be sent to the hospital wing. Is that clear?"

The teachers nodded.

"If all goes well, I should be back in no longer then two hours. Good luck." Dumbledore then grabbed Lucius, and the two vanished in a burst of fire.

There was a quiet moment before Professor Flitwick stepped forward.

"Come on, Harry. The hospital wing..."

Harry let himself be corralled over to the hospital wing, even though there wasn't any physical damage for any healers to address. The lady there was kind enough to give him a dreamless sleep potion, which he sorely needed. He knew there was no way he would be getting any sleep naturally that night, and possibly not for several nights afterward. He had the feeling he would have to learn to brew it for himself in the future...

* * *

Waking up in the hospital wing was a little more pleasant then waking up in Ravenclaw tower. Instead of some magical alarm screeching away, there was only the sound of the wind faintly whistling in the background, and the occasional quiet scuffling of feet. On the other hand, waking up there was a clear signal that something wasn't right. You didn't wake up in the hospital wing if all was well with the world.

Voldemort was back, and now Harry was a wanted man in the eyes of the Dark Lord and his followers. All because of what his parents had done, and what he had did in the Chamber of Secrets several years ago. Or was that all? It was hard to tell if Voldemort was telling the truth. Maybe there was some better reason for him to want Harry dead, but Harry couldn't think of one.

Dwelling on such thoughts did little to improve Harry's mood, so he tried to close his eyes and sink back into the blissful unawareness the potion had given him. It didn't work as well as he had hoped, for disturbing questions about the future kept popping up and interrupting his mind.

 _What do I do now? How will Voldemort be stopped again? How long will Dumbledore be able to keep me safe? Where could I run to that would be safe from Voldemort? Why was I able to dream of Voldemort's plans well in advance? Why me?_

At some point, Dumbledore entered the room. Weariness had contorted his features, made the once personable face all crinkled and forlorn. Fighting Death Eaters could do that to a person.

"Harry, are you awake?" Dumbledore asked. Harry had a feeling Dumbledore could tell the answer to that question without asking him, but nodded anyway, to be polite.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Well enough," Harry said. _Given the circumstances._

Dumbledore paused for a moment, then continued speaking. "The raid on Malfoy's home did not go as well as I hoped it might. Narcissa Malfoy and Walden Macnair are under Ministry custody, but the rest of the occupants of the house escaped."

Did Dumbledore's idea of the raid going well involve capturing Voldemort? That was never going to happen.

"Nevertheless, capturing them and evidence inside the house will be more than enough to convince the world that Voldemort has returned. Unfortunately, this will require you to be involved with some tepid legal business."

"Legal business?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid you will have to attend the trials of these Death Eaters as a witness, Harry, to give evidence here and there. There is also the matter of the Unforgivable curses you used to escape. While I have no doubt that you would normally get off under extenuating circumstances, I fear that Voldemort has access into the Ministry, and he would gain much from seeing you imprisoned."

"How much? I'm no threat to him." Harry thought for a moment. "Is there something I don't know? About why he's after me?"

Another pause. "I'm afraid there is."

"Could you tell me it?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I had hoped I would never have have to, but under the present circumstances, it is unavoidable. Several months before you were born, Harry, a prophecy was made regarding your birth."

A prophecy. Prophecies were elements of Divination. _Divination_. Harry curled his hands into fists. _I'm here because of Divination_.

"This prophecy foretold the fall of the Dark Lord at the hands of a baby born at the end of July-"

"You're kidding me. All of this crap was because of... of... some stupid Oedipus thing?! No, not Oedipus- it's because Voldemort got a hold of a magical _fortune cookie_ and decided that it was the most important thing he'd ever read in his life!" It was like something out of some stupid Monty Python sketch, where Adolf Hitler had gotten some junk mail about freeing the fortunes of a Nigerian prince, and actually believed it. But this wasn't a sketch, this had actually happened.

"It is true that most of Divination is unreliable, Harry, but this prophecy was given by a genuine Seer."

Harry didn't care. Even prophecies given by Seers were dicey at the best of times, and not worth gambling much on unless there was no other choice.

"However, only part of the prophecy was relayed to Voldemort," Dumbledore continued. "There is important information there, in the lines he did not hear."

"Forget it," Harry said. "I don't care about it anymore."

"You would discard it now, when Voldemort's reasoning was previously of utmost importance to you?"

"If Voldemort believes in this stuff, then he doesn't have any reasoning. He's insane. I won't waste my time trying to figure out his decisions."

That wasn't quite true. Harry had already known that Voldemort wasn't right in the head. Everything that was written and said about him suggested that he was a complete basket case. A psychopath. Even then, Harry had still tried to search for what rationality laid inside Voldemort's mind, if only to save his own life. But knowing that Voldemort was a strong believer in fairy tales changed that. Harry could try to understand that unfeeling, paranoid nature of the man that led him to do the things he did, but stupidity- that monumental, indecipherable stupidity that was at the heart of their conflict- he could not fathom.

"Very well, then," Dumbledore said, with a displeased look on his face. "In that case, is there anything else you would like to discuss?"

There was one thing he was still wondering about. "Somehow, I had a couple dreams of what Voldemort was doing before I was kidnapped. They match up with the events that happened. How in the world does that work."

Dumbledore frowned. "That is a vexing mystery, Harry, although I have a couple of ideas... Still, I must request that you share any similar dreams you have with me in the future."

"I will now, but before all of this, I never put much stock in dreams."

* * *

For the whole next week, Dumbledore never got around to telling him what he thought was the cause for Harry's strange dreams was. In the meantime, there was the whole matter of the captured Death Eaters for him to attend to.

Word had already gotten out that the Malfoys, a very popular family among the wizarding aristocracy, had gotten in deep trouble. Whispers were abounding that it had something to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They were right, of course, as the Daily Prophet would end up confirming after the first trial had finished.

Visiting the Ministry was a tiring process. The area itself was very well designed and well decorated, but it was not well run. There was the constant need to get tickets from the staff just to use the elevators, and the hearings and appointments were always being held at very inconvenient times. It meant Harry ended up skipping half of the classes he had for the week, although he couldn't bring himself to care about it like he once would have. There were much bigger things on his plate now then exams.

Legal proceedings were long, drawn out affairs. The jury and the court and the prosecutor and the defendants would keep finding ways to keep talking and talking and talking, even though it was clear all of the people being tried were guaranteed to be found guilty. Even if anyone had wanted to ignore the fact that Voldemort has risen again, the evidence they had was impossible to ignore. They had three Death Eaters, who all were made to confess what had happened in the Malfoy home. They had a pot, laced with the residue of a powerful potion used to give new bodies to spirits. They had Voldemort's wand, which had been found again after it was lost following Voldemort's death from attacking a love shield he could not break. And they had Harry.

As a witness, Harry preferred to use a pensieve, instead of talking about what had happened in Malfoy's house. Thinking about it now would cause him to begin shaking and shivering.

There was also the brief matter of Harry's use of the Imperius curse, which was briefly brought before the judge.

"You performed the Imperius curse voluntarily, of your own will?" Judge Bones had asked.

"I did," Harry said.

"Who was it performed on?"

"Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy."

"Why did you use this curse, in the full knowledge of why the Ministry outlawed them?"

"It was either using it, or I died."

It was all standard legal language Harry had rehearsed with some lawyer Dumbledore had provided, and Harry was quickly cleared of any charges that might have been brought against him. Harry had the feeling the only reason the Ministry brought up the issue was because they wanted to know for sure if Harry had been _The One_ who had subdued Voldemort. When copies of The Daily Prophet appeared with headlines proclaiming that Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, had also defeated the Dark Lord in a duel, Harry had no doubt as to who had first provided them with the full story.

So Lucius, Narcissa, and Macnair were marched off to Azkaban, and Fudge woefully proclaimed that a new era of darkness was upon the wizarding world. Darkness, death, despair, damnation, and a whole bunch of other words that started with D. The Death Eaters were quick to show that they meant business, too, as they attacked a major intersection in London that was very close to the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. A new war was afoot, and Harry could do little to influence it. He was just a student, after all.


	24. The Occlumens and the Order

The next dream with significance to Voldemort came earlier than Harry would have expected it to.

In it, Harry was a snake, slithering around as snakes tend to do. This particular snake was winding its way through a forest at night, with an unmistakable goal in its head: to get back the servant her master had lost.

The snake continued its way through the forest, until the trees gave way to a grassy plain covered with patches of snow. A very familiar grassy plain, with a very familiar castle situated on top of it.

The snake wormed its way over to where another, much larger snake wearing a giant pair of shades was resting.

"You! You there of little faith!" the smaller snake said.

Eve turned to look at the other snake. "Little faith? Not nearly as little as you. Why, you're so small that I could wear you like a scarf!"

"Away with your insolence and small talk! I am here to talk with you about serious manners!"

"Well, I think I have very good manners-"

"Enough!" the other snake hissed. "I came to you tonight to talk of your disobedience. You left the Chamber of Secrets, where Salazar had bid you stay. You fell into the open arms of Albus Dumbledore."

"Hold up! Slytherin also told me to obey his heirs, and that's what I did. So I was absolutely, one hundred percent loyal. Also Slytherin was a big meany head who never let me do anything fun."

"You _dare-_ "

"Slytherin never considered that I didn't like being locked up in that room. It was all slimy and cold and there was no sunlight. Dalbus Stumblefore is a much better master! He lets me go all over the grounds and chase all the birds I want. Did you know how many birds there are at Fogwarts?"

The other snake recognized a change in approach was needed. "If it's birds you want, sweetie, then we can provide," she said, her voice now a bit more like honey and a bit less like sandpaper. "If you think Hogwarts is big, then wait till you see the world outside of it? We can give this to you and more, if you would just-"

"Just what? What is it?" Eve suddenly moved much closer to the other snake.

"Pledge your eternal loyalty to us, and our Dark Lord."

Eve moved away. "I knew it was too good to be true! Eternal loyalty just means you want to lock me in another dungeon. I won't have it."

"We will not hinder your movements, we only ask that you serve our Lord. We need you to remove our enemies, and only you have the skills-"

"I'm not removing anyone! That's mean. I used to do mean things, but now I know better. Killing is bad. You're a bad person. I don't want to talk to you anymore." Eve turned and began to slither away.

The other snake had failed, and the anger rose up inside of her. "You damned sow, you servant of filth and mudbloods! We will find you, and inflict suffering upon you! So much suffering! Curse you, and the wretched manfool you call a master! Curse you..."

The scene faded away as the trees and the grass melted into the familiar curtains of the four poster bed in Ravenclaw tower that Harry called home. It was still in the middle of the night, and he wanted to go back to sleep, but he had to tell Dumbledore about the dream. At least he could find solace in the fact that he had taught Eve well. Was this what parents might feel like if they were to see their child adamantly refusing drugs?

Dumbledore looked tired as Harry explained the dream to him. Instead of discussing what it might have meant to Voldemort, he instead told Harry that he would be meeting with Snape one day per week.

"Why is that, sir?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore did not answer, so Harry had to wait for Snape himself to explain it.

"This is about Occlumency, Potter," Snape said, pacing in his office. "The branch of magic concerned with defending the mind against magical intrusions."

"And this has something to do with these dreams I've been having, sir?"

"Indeed it does. We are dealing with a mental connection here between you and the Dark Lord. A connection that the Dark Lord is likely to become aware of the longer it is allowed to exist. This would allow him to access your mind, and to take from it your deepest secrets."

"If only I had secrets worth hiding," Harry said.

"You may not now, but in the future, it is possible... although I disagree with the headmaster's assertion on it. Now stand up, Potter."

Harry stood up. Snape took out his wand.

"To master Occlumency, you must first learn to clear your mind. The empty mind is the safest from attack, for it has no thoughts that can be given away immediately, and no other thoughts that can be found, for thoughts are are always linked to other thoughts, and memories to other memories. Let go of all your thoughts, your emotions..."

That was an easy enough task for Harry. He had no fondness for Snape, but Harry had been putting such emotions aside for years, ever since his first Potions class. Now, for once, one of his past choices was paying off.

"Now I will test how well your defenses hold up. Prepare yourself, Potter. _Legilimens!_ "

The world faded away into a static plane of gray. Every now and then, flashes of color and sound would pass by, like bits of raisins in oatmeal. There was an attempt Harry could feel, a sort of grasping the mind does when it is searching for something it knows exists but just can't find, although it was not Harry's mind that was doing so. One of the images floating in the empty expanse grew larger, brighter, and more distinct as this happened, steadily growing until it covered the empty world.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, Potter?..."

The memory faded away and the world returned to normal.

"That was not bad for a first attempt," Snape said. "But it was not enough, however, as I was still able to break in with enough prying. You must empty yourself further, clear yourself of anything that can be used against you. Let's try again."

Snape continued grilling him with the spell until he was satisfied with how empty Harry's mind could be.

"That will do for today, Potter. You must continue practicing, and clearing your mind before you go to sleep each night."

"A question, sir?" Harry asked.

"Go ahead."

"If Voldemort-"

"Do not say his name, Potter."

Harry had used the name Voldemort simply because it was the one that made the most sense to him, as he hadn't experienced the full reign of terror that had caused so many people to only refer to Voldemort by euphemisms. Of course, there was plenty of time for that to change...

"Sorry, sir. If You-Know-Who could use this connection to read my mind, would it work in reverse? Could I try looking into his mind, for his secrets?"

Snape paused, looking deep in thought.

"The Dark Lord is an accomplished Occlumens himself, Potter, but there are times when even he lets his defenses drop. Hmm... I'll talk to Dumbledore about it."

The notion that Harry could be useful in the upcoming days was quite an interesting one. So interesting that Occlumency, and, to a much lesser extent, Defense Against the Dark Arts became subjects of much greater interest than his other subjects. It was a decision that resulted in his grades for his other classes slipping, but he didn't care. What did it matter if he failed Arithmancy or Transfiguration? He was never going to take a job involving them anyway, and he had been a fool to think he would ever succeed in them. It was far more important to be focusing on what could keep him alive and safe. Alive and safe, that was all that mattered...

Winter came in blurry gales of snow. Snape continued from what he called the passive practice of Occlumency to the active practice, from keeping the mind safe to actively rooting out intruders.

"You must recognize the foreign element in your brain when it appears. The longer it stays, the more time there is for damage to be done. You must be prepared to remove it forcefully. Find the thoughts, the patterns of activity that do not belong, and stamp them out."

This was the difficult part. Recognizing where the other person in Harry's mind wasn't so hard, but removing them felt like an unnatural task (which it was, of course). Harry likened it to admitting a mistake; trying to expel things from one's mind was something the brain did just not want to do, and it took a great deal of focus to make it happen. It took the better part of a month for Harry to grow proficient enough at it until Snape decided he had learned what he needed to know about Occlumency.

"You have learned what I have taught you well enough, Potter," Snape said. "The Dark Lord should now find his attempts to read your mind frustrated."

There was a pause, as Snape seemed to want to say something more, but was struggling to find the right words to use.

"I've been thinking about what you said about your previous confrontation with the Dark Lord," Snape finally said. "That you would give to him anything in exchange for your own life."

Harry had a hard time believing Snape wouldn't have done the same thing if he had been in Harry's position. "And?"

"I would advise you to think long and hard about that, Potter, when you hear the offer Dumbledore has for you."

"I'm sure I will, sir."

Out of spite, Harry tried his best not to think of it at all when Dumbledore wanted to see him the following day.

* * *

"Now, Harry, I believe you are curious as to why I've been deliberately shunning your company for the past month?" Dumbledore asked, as Harry entered his office.

"Not really, sir." There hadn't been much he had been interested in talking to Dumbledore about beyond the potential of reading Voldemort's mind, and that had to wait until Harry's own mind was secure.

"Well, I think it is best you know. I was afraid that Voldemort might have been able to possess you, and glean information on what I had been working on. But now that is not an issue, so I can tell you all the details. Behold."

Dumbledore got up and motioned to one of his desks, where the Tom Riddle's diary and an old tiara were resting.

"I'm beholding," Harry said.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Inconspicuous, aren't they? But I assure you, these items are without question the most important things we will need to have a chance of defeating Voldemort."

"Why is that?"

"They are Horcruxes. Are you familiar with the word?"

Harry scratched his chin. "I know some ancient Greek wizard invented them and that they're nasty to be involved with."

"Indeed they are, although that is not the whole picture. They are artifacts that can be used to store pieces of a person's soul. These are the reason why Voldemort did not truly die all those years ago when he impaled himself upon your mother's sacrifice."

"Ah." Now it made sense- if Voldemort had never died in the first place, then he was never truly resurrected, either. "Are these the only ones he made?"

"I do not believe so, but I myself have no way to prove that for certain. That is where you come in. Surely, you did not think I would be enlisting the help of any fifth year student here for the purposes of destroying highly dangerous cursed artifacts? You are no expert on the Dark Arts, I'm afraid, but there is something you can provide that no one else can."

"A direct connection to Voldemort's mind?"

"Precisely. I wish for you to learn the basics of Legilimency. I can aid you with learning this, although I would prefer to have more time for my own tasks. If you can gain the art of lightly floating around Voldemort's head, staying out of his sight, then you could be able to glean if there are more Horcruxes, and where they might be located. I trust you understand how important this is?"

"I do." Nothing could be more important than killing the man who had set a price upon his head.

"Good. There is another matter I would like to discuss with you. I run my own organization that fights against Voldemort and his forces, separate from the Ministry. I think your skills would prove invaluable. Would you be willing to join The Order of the Phoenix?"

Harry figured that this was probably what Snape had been talking about. That Harry would be willing to sell them all out if he got captured... which was probably the truth. The existence of Veritaserum made such an issue ultimately moot, of course, but the lack of loyalty was still an issue for Snape. Harry, however, did not care if Snape or anyone else thought he was a coward. What mattered was looking out for himself. For now, Dumbledore's offer was a good way of accomplishing that. Voldemort already wanted him dead, so Dumbledore's Order could only offer him extra protection and information. For now, it made sense.

"I would be willing, sir."

Of course, things could change...


	25. The Ring and the Locket

The first order of business for Harry was learning how to read minds at all.

Legilimency was one of those things that, while not being directly filed under the Dark Arts (with all the baggage that entailed), was quite closely associated with them. Reading another person's mind was not something that lent itself to many purely selfless practices, after all. That meant all the texts Hogwarts had on the subject were buried deep in the Restricted Section of the library. Such a precaution probably wasn't enough to stop any kid who really wanted to hurt someone, but it was better then nothing.

A large and incredibly obvious problem arose when Harry went over the most basic information on Legilimency. The magic around it was closely based around proximity between the person doing the reading and the person being read, which made the task Harry was attempting to do seem utterly impossible. How could one perform a spell entirely revolving around eye contact when the other person was not even in your field of vision? Yet it clearly had to be possible, as Harry had previously been able to observe Voldemort from miles and miles away before.

Dumbledore, as usual, only had a mystical sounding theory to offer.

"I would try focusing on the part of you that is most connected to Voldemort as a substitute for his eyes. I would guess that the scar upon your forehead would be the best place to start."

It sounded like as good a plan as any, although there really wasn't any special reason why Harry's scar would be the key to their mental connection. He had never noticed anything unusual about it before.

Harry did not make any progress on finding the connection until the fourth night he spent looking for it. The books he had were written under the assumption that a connection between minds would be created by the person using it with a spell, which was quite hard to miss. Nevertheless, it did describe what such a connection felt like in enough detail that Harry had a basic idea of what he was looking for. It was supposed to be strong flashes of the emotions the person on the other end of the connection was feeling, with thoughts being too large and complex to be identified in the brief bits of time in which they were detectable. In Harry's case, the emotions coming from Voldemort were much more faint then the book described, and quite rare as well. There would only be brief twinges of anger here or happiness there, like tiny, ghostly pains that were gone before they could be truly felt. The Occlumency training Harry had went through proved itself to be quite useful, as those twinges were much easier to spot when his mind wasn't filled with disconnecting thoughts jumping all over the place.

Further research into the topic of Legilimency also revealed interesting things about the connection Harry and Voldemort had. The book was based almost entirely around mental connections that only flowed in one direction, as a two way connection would theoretically be just as useful to both parties rather then just one. The mind reading spell was designed so that one person would access the other person's mind while the other person was incapacitated, so the authors of the book never considered that there might be a situation where two people might try to read the other's mind simultaneously.

 _Great. Now I can add 'walking case study' to the list of descriptions I never wanted to have next to my name._

Really, when Harry thought about it, he realized that it was like some kind of stupid romantic story where two people fell in love and somehow produced a psychic bond that allowed them to share all their thoughts together as if they had one mind and two bodies. If the tabloids ever got a hold of that story, then the results would certainly be migraine inducing. Harry could imagine the headlines... "Boy-Who-Lived shares soul bond with Lord Voldemort, the most evil wizard since Count Chocula."

Once Harry had found the connection, the next step was to try and follow it to Voldemort's mind, so he could listen to the thoughts that passed through it. Here, the book was again unhelpful, for this sort of work was designed to be done through the _Legilimens_ spell. The spell would do all the hard work of creating the connection and getting the caster into the other person's mind, and by typical wizarding standards, no one had bothered explaining how the spell actually did that in the first place without it being buried under pages and pages of surface integrals. Being as unaccomplished in math as he was, Harry was stuck with the old standby of trial and error.

When he wasn't busy with Legilimency, there were now meetings with Dumbledore's secret anti-Voldemort society to deal with. These were often held at Sirius Black's old apartment, and it was quite jarring at first to see a resistance group discussing how to protect muggles from wizards a room away from a crazy portrait who would not stop screaming about mudbloods and filth being allowed in her house.

The meetings themselves rarely held good news. It was always gloomy whenever someone would step in to inform them that another muggle family had murdered in their homes, another wizard known for their pro muggle beliefs had gone missing, or the Dark Mark had appeared in yet another ominous spot. Snape, who turned out to be a spy for Dumbledore (in hindsight, Snape certainly did look the part), also came with grave news about the future of wizarding England. Voldemort was contacting his old allies, the giants and the wild werewolves, and the Order's attempts to court these factions had failed. The Dementors of Azkaban were looking to be the next on that list, and there was little the Order could offer to them to keep them working for the Ministry. Fudge himself was looking to resign as his attempts to combat the Death Eaters ended in failure after failure.

All of this made Harry question the importance of hunting down Horcruxes. Being able to completely kill Voldemort was a plus, but it wouldn't mean much if they had no chance of getting to the man in the first place if he ended up taking over the Ministry. Even if Voldemort was rendered mortal, what would it matter if he overthrow the government and began ruling the country as he saw fit anyways?

Still, Harry pressed on with his task, because it was the only way he could see himself making any kind of difference in the grand scheme of things.

After attempting all sorts of things to try and follow the mental connection to Voldemort's mind, Harry found the one that would get the best results by tiring himself out and trying to doze off during the day. This would result in him fitfully drifting in and out of a dreamlike state where the connection felt like it had a physical presence to his mind that he could follow somewhere else. Actually choosing to follow it was tricky, as while he was dozing, conscious actions proved themselves difficult to make. Nevertheless, enough attempts would allow his mind to follow the connection, and then he would be close enough to Voldemort's mind to listen to some of his thoughts.

Listening was the word Harry would use to describe it, as it was far too patchy and irregular to be called reading a mind. Harry's first successful attempt at listening to Voldemort's mind brought in only a few fractured sentences and a fuzzy image of a bearded man in a dark room.

"... how are - -le after re-ng them from Azkaban?" something that sounded like Voldemort had said.

"... Lestranges recovered, but - needs ... two suicides..."

"... next - has to ... - - for..."

Still, the information that was given there proved to be correct when Snape confirmed that two of the Death Eaters that had escaped in a mass breakout of Azkaban had indeed killed themselves. Given that most of the people there had spent thirteen years living with only the company of Dementors, Harry was surprised the number wasn't higher.

The initial excitement over having made a breakthrough in using the connection quickly faded as Harry grew accustomed to how useless it usually was. It was like trying to recreate the entirety of a radio program that ran at a specific time of day every other week using randomly selected snippets from programs from every time of day, which were also partially filled with static. And there were times when Voldemort's mind was completely closed, or the connection would open when Harry was in class or asleep and couldn't use it... the tidbits of information Harry had collected hardly amounted to anything. There was something about a shop hosting strange artifacts, the face of a little fat boy in terror, a sword that had escaped its rightful owner, a note that the most faithful servant was driven by love and had to be kept on a short leash, and the image of a ruined cottage with snakes on the door.

None of those things meant anything to Harry, but Dumbledore took great interest in the first and last ones.

"I have been keeping myself busy with detailed research into Voldemort's past, and those two things may be the key to what I'm looking for," Dumbledore had said. "I'll have to look this with one of my contacts in the Ministry."

In a few days Dumbledore was certain he had found the clue to one of the Horcruxes.

"Voldemort so far has displayed a habit of making Horcruxes out of items that have some sort of personal significance to him. His dairy, proving that he was the heir of Slytherin, and a legendary artifact of Rowena Ravenclaw's, which is tied to one of the four founders of this school. And Voldemort's old family probably had some trinkets of their own, which is why we'll be visiting their old cottage that you caught a glimpse of. I had heard of the place before from the old owner's history of attacking muggles, but I hadn't made the connection to Voldemort beforehand," Dumbledore said.

"A question, sir. Why do I have to go with you?" Harry asked.

"I fear there may be a possibility Voldemort has trapped the area in such a way that he might be alerted to my presence if I were to go there. I will try to look for such things, but it would help if you could keep a close eye on his mind in case I miss any. I assure you I will be able to keep you quite safe if given ample warning of Voldemort's movements."

Harry sighed. "Okay. But could we at least bring a couple of aurors along with us, for backup?"

Dumbledore frowned. "I would like for as little people as possible to know of the existence of Voldemort's Horcruxes. If any word were to get out about them, Voldemort would be sure to move them to a place where we might not ever find them again. Then all would be lost."

"You were already risking that by going to a place that was potentially rigged by Voldemort himself."

"True, true. Still, I don't believe it's worth the risk to bring anyone else along who isn't necessary for our operation to succeed."

"Well, you don't have to tell them you're specifically looking for a Horcrux. Just tell whoever you're bringing that you're looking to destroy a very powerful cursed artifact Voldemort hid somewhere that he might have need of one day. That wouldn't even be lying."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "How devious of you, Harry."

Dumbledore, Kingsley, Moody, and Harry apparated to a run down part of the woods bordered by a hideously quaint little village. As they walked down a path leading to the cottage that was apparently so important, Harry noticed that a number of snakes were watching them as they went by. They probably were worried that the newcomers were going to nail them to the door as well.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as they approached the cottage, which looked even filthier and degraded then it had appeared when Voldemort had thought of it. There was no traces magic that any of them could detect, save for one noticeable magical signature that was located underneath the floor of the cottage. Not that such a detail would have mattered, as the floorboards had rotted away and exposed a suspiciously clean black box. No suspicious signs from Voldemort's mind appeared as Dumbledore levitated the box up.

"I fear I may have raised your expectations for this outing a tad too high," Dumbledore said. "It appears even the Dark Lord Voldemort has his moments of... procrastination. He hasn't bothered guarding _this_ cursed artifact at all."

Dumbledore opened the box to reveal a ornate ring with a dark green stone embedded in the center. At the sight of it he suddenly seemed to be put into a trance, and walked forward with his hand outstretched, as if he was going to put the ring on his finger. He would have succeeded at that too, if Moody hadn't lunged and dragged him backwards.

"What the hell are you doing, Albus?!" Moody shouted. "What's the first rule of curse-breaking? NEVER! TOUCH! THE! DAMNED! ITEM!"

After being shaken around by Moody and Kingsley for a bit longer, Dumbledore seemed to regain his senses.

"Forgive me, Alastor," Dumbledore murmured. "I seem to have succumbed to that errant foolishness we all face in our old age. I thought... well, I'll tell you about it later. You seemed to have saved me quite a bit of trouble."

"You're right about that," Moody growled, muttering a series of incantations while jabbing his wand near the ring. "This thing was carrying quite a nasty curse. So nasty that if you had put it on... well, the only parts left of you would be your shoes."

They didn't have the time to break the curse right then and there, so they put the ring back in the box and took the box with them back to Hogwarts.

* * *

The next Horcrux was not found through any of Harry's poor Legilimency, but instead from more of Dumbledore's research. This time, the four Order members ventured forth to a little place by the seaside, which was near where Voldemort had grown up in an orphanage. It seemed to low key for Voldemort, but Dumbledore disagreed on that point.

"He sees great significance in even the smaller parts of his life, for to him they are the pivotal moments in his rise to greatness," Dumbledore said, as he extended a magic rope leading from a cliff down to the ocean shore. "He used to bully the other children here, and his first abuses of power must have lead him to his greatest ones. Or something along those lines."

They continued from the rocky outcroppings near the shore to a dim underground cave, which left everyone soaked and harboring a newfound appreciation for the difficulties of fishing,

"And here is an actual barricade Voldemort has left for us," Dumbledore said, motioning to a completely ordinary stone wall. "He thinks that most wizards are so squeamish that they would not dare to injure themselves in the slightest, for this door requires a bit of blood to open. He may very well be right, too. Shall we draw straws?"

Kingsley was the unlucky one who had to prick himself with a hastily sharpened stone, which ended up revealing a completely unordinary rock archway. They continued to find an underground lake, which was smooth as the rock surrounding it, and glowing an unappetizing shade of green.

"Now, we have to ask ourselves: where in this lake might Voldemort have hidden a precious magical artifact? I have two guesses..."

Dumbledore trailed off and began fidgeting with the air around the lake, until he suddenly procured a thick green chain from nowhere.

"Clever!" Kingsley said.

"I never would have noticed that," Moody muttered.

Dumbledore pulled on the chain, which slowly summoned a nondescript wooden boat to the shore.

"It seems Voldemort placed his keepsake somewhere at the center of the lake. The only problem is that this boat can only take one of us at a time. I think I should go first," Dumbledore said.

"After that reaction you had to the ring?" Moody grumbled.

"Once burned, twice wise. And I doubt there could be anything as tempting waiting for me as the ring was."

So they slowly trekked across the lake in the boat, one by one, with no suspicious activities from Voldemort once again. The man clearly had no idea what good security looked like.

At the center of the lake was a small island, where a pedestal stood with a basin at the top. The basin was filled with a yellowish-greenish liquid that looked a bit like chlorine gas. At the center of the basin was what looked to be like a bit of jewelry.

"And now we have hit another impasse," Dumbledore said. "The protection provided to this item is quite secure. It does have one specifically designed weakness, but to test it might be fatal. There is a potion in that basin, and the only way to get rid of it would be by drinking it."

"Are you sure we couldn't just brute force it?" Moody asked.

"It would take a lot of time and it would make a lot of noise. Neither of those are desirable outcomes, I'm afraid. Hmm."

"I was just thinking," Kingsley said. "That thing below the potion kind of looks like this gaudy locket Sirius showed to me when I was at Headquarters one day. Said his house elf was bonkers over it."

"And I think I should very much like to see that house elf. Since Voldemort is still unaware of our presence here, I think we can afford to return here with a better plan, rather than fall into an incredibly obvious trap."

So it turned out that the entire outing to the underground lake was a waste of time, and a former Death Eater had already done the dirty work for them, even going so far as to plant a fake Horcrux where the real one used to be so it would not look suspicious if Voldemort returned there. It was an excellent idea, and Dumbledore made a fake ring in a box that he left in the old cottage as well.

* * *

Once again in Dumbledore's office, Harry glanced at a table. Their collection of Horcruxes had grown to include a ring and a locket. Looking at the ugly items gathered together, Harry really had to question Voldemort's grasp on aesthetics.

"And now," Dumbledore said, "I would like you to look for any thoughts or memories of Voldemort's related to a small, golden cup. One that used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff."


	26. Willful Negligence

Some impossible tasks were deemed impossible based on the nature of reality. Sometimes, people's understanding of reality would change and allow for said tasks to become possible, but there were many other times where this did not occur. Man had created rockets that had taken them away from the Earth and to the Moon, but never once violated the law of conservation of energy, even if some people with robes and pointy hats thought otherwise.

There were other impossible tasks that were labeled as such not because they were physically impossible, but because they hadn't been done before.

Robbing Gringotts was one of those tasks. To any wizard, the idea was unthinkable, as the bank's very foundation was laid upon generations of thieves who had met a grievous fate, buried beneath the earth. To any goblin, the idea was unthinkable, as it would quickly end in hordes of other goblins butchering you even if you managed to escape alive and with something to show for it.

It was no surprise, then, that the idea of trying to break into Gringotts to retrieve the missing cup of Helga Hufflepuff was quickly dismissed.

The knowledge of the whereabouts of the cup did not come easily. Listening for snippets of information related to it had gotten Harry absolutely nowhere, so the decision was made for Harry to try and infiltrate further into Voldemort's mind. It was a very delicate job, as anything more than idle listening ran the risk of Harry getting caught, which would completely close off any further attempt at using Legilimency on Voldemort. There was also the possibility that Voldemort could use the two way connection to try and take some of Harry's memories by force. Such an event would be quite disastrous for the Order's happy Horcrux hunt, so they tried to take precautions. Harry was allowed to use a pensieve to store what he considered the memories that were the most important to keep away from Voldemort. Harry chose the ones involving Dumbledore's ever growing Horcrux collection, but it wasn't foolproof. There were plenty of other memories where the subject cropped up in some form or another.

The whole prospect of going directly after the Cup felt like quite a gamble, but Dumbledore was convinced the risk was worth taking. He believed that it would be the second to last Horcrux, with the final one being Voldemort's pet snake that often terrorized the other Death Eaters. The snake was not a small object that could be hidden in a faraway hiding place, so it stood to reason that killing it would not be an ordeal onto itself like hunting down the other Horcruxes was. Why Dumbledore believed that they had found all of the Horcruxes felt like a much more flaky reason, having to do with the mystical properties of the number seven. A load of astrology and tarot card inspired garbage. It was the kind of crap that Voldemort might actually believe in, but it still felt so fake.

So, once again Harry had to delve deeper in the daydream like state he found himself in when using the connection to Voldemort's mind. Trying to accomplish anything in that position besides letting his mind drift aimlessly was like trying to balance on a narrow plank of wood after receiving a heavy dose of Novocain in both feet.

Still, he had to try if he wanted to play his little part in trying to end the war sooner. It was better than reading the newspapers, anyway.

March 27th: Another massacre of a muggle family in their London apartment. April 14th: Former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge found murdered in his own home. May 5th: Famous historical author Bathilda Bagshot reported missing, with a Dark Mark found over her home...

At some point Harry remembered taking his OWLs. He had probably flunked everything that wasn't Potions, Charms, Muggle Studies, or History of Magic. He had a hard time putting his heart into it when the agency responsible for grading them would probably collapse before they could send the results back.

Harry only managed three attempts at Legilimency that were successful. The first left him only directly observing thoughts passing by for a second before he lost his concentration and found himself staring at a wall once again. Staring at walls had become an unfortunately common occurrence for him.

The second time brought enough information to let the Order start coming up with a plan. Harry had once again found himself on the outskirts of Voldemort's mind. He quickly thought of a 'golden cup', and this brought forth an image of one famous golden cup buried in a massive heap of gold coins, gold trinkets, gold bracelets, to the point where the whole picture seemed to radiate the heat of an enormous fire, as it was so very bright. Then he lost his focus and found himself staring at the ceiling. Ceilings were rarely more attractive sights than walls, unless they had been made by a particularly inspired architect.

* * *

"A entire hoard of gold, you say?" Dumbledore said, absentmindedly twirling the corners of his bread. "Voldemort always had a tendency for collecting and hiding idle treasures, and I have a good guess as to where he might be keeping them now. Gringotts. Voldemort never had any fondness for goblins, but he used to think that any respectable wizard should have a vault there, and I believe he still does. The question is... which vault?"

"It has to be Bellatrix's," Snape said. "Every time they acquire new financial assets, most of it gets sent there until it gets drawn back out to be used. Magical artifacts, old books, they get sent there too. It's the mother lode."

"Then I suppose we can be thankful for being liberated from an endless search and being granted an unreachable task. Hmm. I will have to think about this for a while."

Not even Dumbledore could think of a way to break into the Gringotts vault, so the discussion shifted to trying to legally gain access to it somehow. They did have a tenuous family connection via Sirius Black, who might have been the one to inherit the vault's contents if it was solely distributed among heirs to the House of Black. It wasn't a sure thing, as there was also the fact that Bellatrix was married and also had a few cousins she would much prefer to have the money than Sirius in the event of her death. With knowledge that Voldemort was already in the process of infiltrating the Ministry of Magic, the wizarding courts were no longer fully trustworthy, and the courts were the only people the goblins would take orders from. They needed something more concrete. They needed a will.

A will that, for all intents and purposes, would appear to have been written by Bellatrix Lestrange.

Forging it wouldn't have been possible. The goblins had many tests for such irregularities that no wizard in the Order could bypass. So the discussion shifted to more forceful methods. Kidnapping followed by the Imperius curse followed by murder. A love potion, used to manipulate, followed by murder. It was rather unpleasant stuff for Harry to think about, but less so given that it was planned against someone whose name to fame was through torture and indiscriminate slaughter. Dumbledore was initially against the ideas, but was talked into it with the regrettable information that this really was their only shot of getting that Horcrux.

But kidnapping Bellatrix Lestrange was no simple task. She was the top ranking of the Death Eaters for a reason, and the Death Eaters always struck unpredictably and quickly, before the Order could intercept them. Snape's information wasn't that helpful either, as he wasn't told of the daily Death Eater activities as part of a policy to make the organization more resistant to having individual members captured.

So they had to turn to Harry's poor Legilimency once more. Only now, Harry had to try to use it at night while hanging out in the Order headquarters, since the Death Eaters did their business at night and the Order needed to be able to respond to information of their whereabouts quickly. It made Harry feel like some kind of emergency worker. He resolved to never get that kind of job once the the whole Voldemort business was done with.

The third time Harry was successful at it also proved to be short lived. Asking for an image of Bellatrix brought forth the face of the judge who worked at the Ministry, and plans for replacing her. But as Harry tried to briefly pause to process that information, the mental world of Voldemort's mind suddenly seemed to contract around him in all directions. Then it felt like a massive boot slammed into his face, and he returned to find the world spinning on several different axes.

"Sheasfterthjudg'," Harry mumbled.

"What?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry paused and took a moment to let his newly formed headache get acquainted with the rest of his body. "They went after the judge- the Ministry of Magic one. But Voldemort knows we know. You have to hurry."

So Harry sat there and cleared his mind as the Order left to finally accomplish something.

* * *

The night was warm and dry, the air still and devoid of any wind. The area was tinted faintly orange due to the sheer number of streetlights surrounding it. There were a number of square houses painted white and blue near a large and empty highway the winded off into the horizon. Long, slanted shadows hugged the edges of the many lamps keeping the night away from the many homes, and the buzzing of moths was constantly audible.

It was not a good night to be sneaking around in, as the Death Eaters there would soon discover.

The Order members came in a loud series of cracks. The area then grew much brighter as Dumbledore briefly waved a tool at the streetlights, turning many decent hiding spots into glaring eyesores. One of them held a number of people wearing dark cloaks.

But as the spells began to fly, there was another tumultuous series of cracks. A whole group of cloaked people came to assist their fellows, and pandemonium ensured.

Bright streaks of red and green bounced all over the place, sometimes hitting wizards, sometimes deflecting off shields into the sky, sometimes breaking a window or damaging a particular bit of fencing. Sparks flew everywhere, and a fire quickly started and began consuming the side of a house. Several explosions hit the ground, scattering clouds of dirt and shrapnel every which way. At the center of it all was Dumbledore and Voldemort, who constantly seemed to vanish and reappear on all sides of the battlefield, while trading extraordinarily damaging spells with each other. Dumbledore had summoned a great spinning vortex of air to attack Voldemort, who countered by transfiguring it into a great dragon made of fire, which Dumbledore countered by dousing it with a giant wall of water...

But the rest of the fight was not as evenly matched. The Death Eaters outnumbered the Order, and they were willing to use far more lethal curses then their more law abiding foes, so the number of dead Order members grew at a higher pace compared to the count of merely stunned or hexed Death Eaters.

Then Bellatrix revealed herself, and the nature of the fight changed.

" _Crucio_!" she shouted, getting too close to one of Dumbledore's spells. The force from it was enough to blow the top of her cloak away, and then she found the wand of every standing Order member pointed at her.

She managed to get a shield up, but it wasn't enough to stop the number of stunners that hit her.

The sudden, coordinated attack on the highest ranking Death Eater was enough to distract Voldemort momentarily. This let Dumbledore get the better of him with a burst of electricity that caught the Dark Wizard in the foot.

Voldemort snarled, and then made some sort of motion to his arm before disapparating. The other Death Eaters followed suit.

Five minutes later, the Ministry of Magic showed up, too late to accomplish anything useful.

* * *

The mood of the Order was sour as they returned with Bellatrix Lestrange. They had gotten what they needed to get the Cup, but they also had lost many of their own compared to the number of Death Eaters that would be sent to Azkaban (and probably broken out a few weeks later). Kingsley, Podmore, Lupin, and Vance had died, and many others were injured.

"She won't last long, Albus," Moody said, glancing at their captive. "Being hit by that many stunners jumbles up the heart. Best we make this quick."

"Very well. _Ennervate_."

Bellatrix awoke, but did little more then gasp and wheeze as her body continued to fail her.

" _Imperio_."

Under the control of Dumbledore, the witch's arm shakily grabbed a quill and began frantically scribbling away on a piece of parchment.

 _I, Bellatrix Lestrange, do hereby revoke and nullify any previous wills I have written prior to this day. I declare that I am of legal age to declare this will, and am of a clear state of mind to write it._

 _..._

 _I hereby declare that the closest heir to the honorable House of Black, Sirius Black, will be the owner of the entire contents of my Gringotts vault upon my death._

 _..._

"That will do."

They ended the spell, but Bellatrix still continued to die, slowly and agonizingly.

"I think it would be best to end her suffering now," Dumbledore murmured.

"Oh, yeah," Moody barked. "Why don't you tell that to Frank and Alice the next time you visit St. Mungo's? I'm sure they'd be glad to hear that. _If_ they could understand you."

Dumbledore ignored him, and sent out a jet of green light that finally killed Bellatrix.

* * *

The rest of the plan worked flawlessly. With the will in hand, Dumbledore got the Wizengamot to tell the goblins that Sirius could use Bellatrix's old vault. Not wanting to look like they were specifically looking for the Cup, they took everything of value from the vault instead.

With the number of funerals for the order taking place, they also had to wonder if it had been the right choice to go for the Cup then and there. Harry didn't know most of the people who had died that night, but he did know Lupin a little. He had been a good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Harry was sad to see him go. There was no telling how awful his replacement might end up being.

The Order had also lost access to the connection between Harry and Voldemort's minds that had been the key to their Horcrux finding strategy. Now Voldemort was employing Occlumency at all times, Occlumency that Harry had no chance of breaking through.

So the mood wasn't quite as happy as it might have been when Dumbledore gathered a few people on the grounds to destroy all the Horcruxes they had gathered.

"To destroy these cursed artifacts, we need something particularly nasty," Dumbledore said. "Basilisk venom. Luckily, we happen to have a friend who can supply us with all the venom we need! Eve, if you'd please."

Eve nodded excitedly. "This must be some tough furniture you're looking to get rid of. Don't worry! I can handle anything, so long as it's been housebroken."

"Don't worry about it. Just bite down on each of these items, if you'd please."

One by one, Eve bit each of the Horcruxes. First the Cup, then the Diadem, then the Diary, the Ring, and finally the Locket. Each made a screaming sound as it was destroyed, and released a dark, fluid like substance into the air.

Voldemort was just about mortal again.

"That was fun!" Eve said. "What do we do now?"

Then reality hit them like an uninvited sledgehammer to the knee.

"What the _hell_ do we do now?" Harry said.


	27. The Big, Ugly Picture

On July 18th, the weather in Ottery St. Catchpole was considered nice enough for a wedding. It was hot and muggy, with flies angrily buzzing all over the place. It set the perfect mood for love to go sour, which was really what marriage was all about. That, and legalities. There was nothing quite like signing legal documents under the blazing heat of an unforgiving summer sun that made the pages and pages of fine print all blur together into chunky word soup.

Heat could really do a lot to bring out the worst in people. Especially wizard communities that had invented a charm for keeping areas warm, but not for keeping them cool.

Harry had no idea why he was invited to this particular wedding. He didn't know any of the people that were involved. It was probably because he just happened to be in the Order, and was given the invitation as a standard courtesy. Most of the Order members had showed up, except for Snape, and he had the excuse of his spy duties that let him skip all sorts of gatherings. Harry would have liked to have skipped out on the wedding too, but he thought it might lead to a whole bunch of angry arguments the next time he showed up at a meeting if he didn't go. He figured that if he showed up early on, had a bit to eat, and then snuck away with his invisibility cloak, that would be enough to placate the families who cared so much about their social events.

That turned out to be a woefully wrong prediction.

After arriving at the town by Floo, the most visible building was a giant, crooked mess of woodwork that looked like a hippie's answer to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Unlike something a hippie might have built, however, the building was stable enough, as it was held together by magic and not by the hopes and dreams of ten million termites. There were a number of tables and tents set up outside the crooked house, holding a little banquet for the guests. The food was mostly standard English fare, with a whole lot of butter and cream masking that the dishes were just a bunch of meat and potatoes thrown together in some order. Harry would have much preferred Indian food, with its vast array of spices and vegetables to liven things up, but he supposed that would just be too exotic for a gathering of English wizards.

Many people noticed Harry as he grabbed some potatoes and sat away in a corner, but few people went over to talk to him. Most of the people who knew Harry merely thought of him as that creepy weirdo from school, or that creepy weirdo their kids had told them about. Harry certainly wasn't doing much to dispel that notion, which was just fine with him. Having a bad reputation meant having less idiots pestering him with small talk.

The summer thus far hadn't been going well, much like things in general hadn't been going well ever since Voldemort had returned. They had finally gotten a new Minister of Magic to replace Fudge, but that change looked to be too little, too late. The Death Eaters had already established a firm grip of the areas the Ministry was supposed to be protecting, and now they appeared to be making their move on the Ministry itself. The Order members posted at the Ministry began to notice other employees acting strangely; a telltale sign of the Imperius curse. They had warned the Minister about this, but the new Minister was a haughty man who thought Dumbledore's little group was illegal and untrustworthy. There was a betting pool in the Order going on to see if he would live to the end of the month.

The only upside was that Harry was no longer stuck with the Dursleys. Dumbledore had at first thought returning there would be crucial to keeping Harry safe, as the house on Privet Drive possessed some kind of ancient family magic that would protect him until he turned seventeen. The only problem was that neither Harry nor his relatives stayed in the house all of the time. Vernon had a job, Petunia had to go shopping, Dudley had school, and Harry had chores to do, all of which required leaving the protective boundaries set by the old magic. So Dumbledore relented and let him stay at Hogwarts for the summer.

Knowing that he wouldn't be returning to his relatives, Harry figured he owed them some explanation for why he vanished, although not a particularly thorough one. A letter sufficed:

 _Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley,_

 _It turns out I was a wizard just like my parents the whole time. I lied to you about this because it made all of our lives easier. I won't be coming back because another crazy wizard wants to kill me and that would put you at risk as well. Thanks for raising me for the past sixteen years or something. You should probably change your tax forms._

 _From,_

 _Harry Potter_

Though he had never really liked his relatives, Harry wasn't nearly so bitter towards them as to wish them dead. He could sympathize with their position, as if some distant cousin's child had been abruptly placed in his lap, Harry doubted that they would get along well either.

Staying at Hogwarts for the summer hadn't been nearly as fun as he had imagined it to be. Sure, the place was pretty and he could cast spells whenever he wanted to, but there was no escaping the fact that there was a war raging outside the castle and they were losing it. They had managed to reduce Voldemort to being almost mortal, but then they were left with the task of actually killing him, something the Ministry and the Order couldn't accomplish during the last year despite having much higher staffing and funding. They didn't have a second Lily Potter to sacrifice, and they didn't have a wonderchild who could effortlessly fix everything up just because a prophecy no one ever heard of said he could. They were screwed.

More and more, Britain was feeling like a prison. While he stayed there, Harry was always going to be at risk. Dumbledore couldn't protect him forever; the man was older than dirt and there was no telling what illness would take him first. And once Dumbledore died, there would be nothing stopping Voldemort from seizing control of the whole country. When that happened, the only option would be running away. Harry wasn't sure about how far would he have to go to be truly safe, as the recent death of Igor Karkaroff in Romania attested to how far Voldemort's influence extended. Maybe he could stow away on a ship heading to the United States, and get some kind of job there.

It wasn't long before the ceremonies began, under a large tarp which mercifully shielded the guests from the sun. Making sure to follow the seating chart, Harry sat down and zoned out as some moron began reading the usual speeches.

 _Pledging of honors, exchanging rings, being together until death... who came up with this crap? And would anyone really care if some of it was pruned? These lousy things go on long enough as it is. Someone really ought to hire an editor..._

Harry snapped out of his idle daydreaming as the loud crack of apparition sounded close by. A man ran to the tarp, panting loudly.

"They've got the Minister!" he cried out, looking straight at Dumbledore.

At once, there was a deathly silence amongst the guests. Most of them were cognizant enough to understand who 'they' were, given the bad times they were living in.

"So they have," Dumbledore murmured, before standing. "Once the ceremony is over, I can arrange for alternative means of transportation for those who fear they might be tracked on their way home. Those who are working for me should stay here later to discuss this matter in more detail. Now, I ask for all of you to be quiet, so we may at least see this moment come to fruition."

So the man kept on talking while the bride and the groom eventually got around to saying "I do", but Harry was no longer focused on how long the wedding was taking. He was gearing himself up for the inevitable shouting match that was to take place soon afterwards.

Soon enough, the happy couple was married, and Harry followed the other Order members, who were shuffling towards the strange house. They sat at a large table, and were joined shortly thereafter by Dumbledore, who had just managed to create more illegal portkeys in a day then most people did in their entire lives.

"It seems we have suffered a major setback," Dumbledore said. "Not an unexpected one, I must admit, but even so..."

 _'A major setback' hardly describes it,_ Harry thought, drumming his hands on the table. _Now that Voldemort controls the Ministry, he and his cronies can do anything they want without having to worry about aurors chasing them. In fact, now they can set aurors on us!_

"So we're looking at a complete takeover of the government?" a man asked.

"I'm afraid so. I just received an owl telling me that I was relieved of my post at the Wizengamot, and another owl telling me that I was wanted for questioning on the whereabouts of Peter Pettigrew. They've also set up searches for Potter, Diggle, Fletcher..."

 _Well, I've been a wanted man in this country for a while before this, but now it's official. Great._

"What's the word on the giants?" Sirius asked.

"They've sworn allegiance to Voldemort's cause. I don't know what he's offering them, but it's enough to get them to tolerate working together with the Ministry."

"What about the prophecy?"

"He can waltz into the Department of Mysteries any time he wants to. There's nothing we can do to stop him from picking it up."

 _Oh yeah, that's a major concern. The prophecy. Not the army of giants we can do nothing to stop. Keep on fretting over that worthless crystal ball._

"How are our efforts in reaching out to the French community going?" Snape said.

"They aren't willing to stand up to Voldemort. No one in Europe is. They've seen what he's capable of and they want no part in this fight."

"Then what should we do next?"

The conversation was maddening. Every sentence revealed their weakness to be even worse than before. They were naught but a small splinter group, a tiny guerrilla organization facing the wrath of foes more numerous and better equipped then they could ever hope to be. They were no longer an additional group of vigilantes backing up the government, but now had the burden of fighting the entire war on their shoulders. It was a burden they could not carry. Not even with Dumbledore on their side.

In Harry's view, you couldn't win a fight where you were outnumbered and outmatched just by being on the moral side of the equation. For the Order to win their war, they needed either a brilliant tactician who could turn any battle into a decisive victory, or they needed allies who could provide enough support to give them a fighting chance.

The first option seemed like a pipe dream. Where in the world would they find their own Alexander the Great, who also would have to know all about the intricacies of magic and magical creatures? Minds like that did not come often, and even when they did picking them out from the crowd was an impossible task. No, the second option was the only feasible one. It was one the Order was trying to pursue, but not one they were having any success with. They had failed miserably with the giants. Most of the werewolves in the country had fallen right into the arms of the Death Eaters. The goblins wouldn't help them, as they had seen plenty of dark wizards before without intervening, and had no special reason to care about the new one. The rest of wizarding Europe wasn't going to help them, and the rest of the world was too far away to consider magical Britain one of their concerns.

It was almost enough for Harry to admit defeat. But there was one more faction they could look to for help. Not a popular or trustworthy one, but it was still the only one that could help them.

"What we should be doing next is looking for some people that can help us," Harry said, causing a number of people to glance at him suspiciously. He had never talked much at the meetings before.

"Well, we've tried everyone, haven't we?" Sirius snapped.

"No. Not everyone."

"Then enlighten us. _Who_ could we have possibly missed all the other times we tried looking for allies?"

"The vampires."

A long silence followed Harry's words. It was for good reason, he supposed, as the vampires had never been liked by most wizards. Pureblood supremacists hated them because their blood was cursed and removed the gift of magic from anyone who suffered it. Politicians hated them because they ran their own society outside of Ministry control and paid no heed to wizarding laws. Normal wizards hated them because they were terribly immoral creatures who didn't mind killing others for food or for pleasure.

"Vampires, huh?" a woman asked.

"Yes."

"Yes," Snape said. "You want us to parley with creatures of the darkest night, and ask them to help us out of the kindness of their hearts?"

"'Creatures of the darkest night?'" Harry growled. "This isn't a god damn opera. This is war. We can't fight Voldemort on our own terms anymore. We lost our chance for that a while ago. We _need_ help, and that's the only place where we might get it."

"What makes you think they would ever help _us_ , Potter?"

"They hate Voldemort's speeches as much as anyone else. They know he's dangerous to them. That's why they might help us. That's why we have to take this chance."

"Your father never would have stood for an idea like that," Sirius snarled. "Working together with vampires? That's hardly any different from working with Voldemort. What happens if they demand to gnaw on muggles as payment for their services?!"

"It's better then the alternatives-"

"Like hell it is!" And most of the Order was nodding in agreement with him.

 _They aren't listening. I can't salvage this. No one can._

Harry stood up. "Alright. Fine. You want it your way, you can have it your way. No vampires. You can try and fight the Ministry and the Death Eaters and the giants all by yourself. Since you love my parents so much, you'll probably die like they did too. I'm done here."

Ignoring the cries of anger and confusion behind him, Harry angrily stalked out of the room. He wasn't quite sure where he wanted to go, but he knew he couldn't stand being part of the losing team any longer. Now was the time to run away. Now was...

"Where are you going?"

A voice made him stop. The source was a young girl with red hair who was looking at him with a mixture of annoyance and... wistfulness? He wasn't quite sure.

"Somewhere that isn't here, I think," Harry said.

She narrowed her eyes. "You're running away, aren't you?"

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. How would you tell?"

"I heard what you said back there. You said you wanted to be done with this."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Aren't you too young to be invited to Order meetings?"

The girl stomped her foot on the floor. "So are you! And it doesn't matter. These walls aren't very thick."

"Okay. Whatever. You figured out I want to run away. So what? Why do you care? I'm of no use to the cause here. I'm no good with spells. I can't look into Voldemort's mind anymore."

"But you did have a plan to help us. You said-"

"Yeah. The plan no one liked. That plan."

The girl ignored him and began pacing. "You came up with something no one else did. If that is the only way for us to win, you should go through with that plan, even if it's not popular here."

Harry sighed. "That 'plan' didn't involve me being the ambassador to the vampires. You'd want someone more knowledgeable, more experienced... Snape, maybe?"

"Well, why is it that Snape couldn't come up with your plan? Maybe this job needs a different mindset, or something-"

"If you're so obsessed with seeing this plan through, why don't you do it?!"

The girl glared at him. "I don't know. Maybe it's because I know less than you do, because I hadn't thought of your idea. Maybe it's because I don't have a magic cloak that can make me invisible-"

"How did you know about that?"

"My brother told me about it. Not that it matters, anyway." She sighed, and began fidgeting with her hands. "I guess it isn't fair to ask this of you, but..."

"What?"

"Not everyone is fortunate enough to be able to run away from their problems so easily. You, you're rich. You can retire away anywhere you want. But me and my family, we can't afford to leave here. We have to stay here, for better or worse. There are lots of people like us. They're all going to suffer terribly if the Death Eaters aren't stopped. Don't you see?" Now the anger had vanished from her face, and there was only a sad, pleading look there.

Harry could easily see that. When dictators rose and turned their hungry eyes upon their own people, those who couldn't flee always suffered the most. It was easy for death tolls to racket into the thousands, the hundreds of thousands, the millions... it wasn't something he wanted to think about.

"I'm leaving," Harry said, no longer able to look the girl in the face. She didn't stop him as he exited the house, and began heading out into the village.

"I suppose that you've had enough?" Dumbledore said, suddenly appearing next to Harry.

"Uh-"

"Before you go, you might wish to remember that the Ministry still has a trace on you, keeping track of any magic you might perform in front of muggles."

"Oh, right. I forgot about that."

Dumbledore paused, and stroked his beard. "Seeing as we now oppose the Ministry no matter what we do, I ultimately see more good than bad in removing it. But I will ask that you remember why it was invented and try not to make a scene in front of any bystanders."

Harry nodded, then gasped in pain as Dumbledore flicked his wand. Apparently, having a trace manually removed felt like having your toes hit by a lead plate.

"If you are seeking refuge from this war, then I advise that you first travel to France," Dumbledore continued. "Madime Maxime, at Beauxbatons, will be able to assist you further. Your cloak should make it easy to sneak aboard a train heading there. But if you are taking Miss Weasley's advice and seeking the aid of the vampires, be extremely cautious. They are self serving creatures and will no doubt find a way for you to further their own objectives."

"Uh, thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"Then farewell, Harry."

* * *

Harry didn't immediately head to a train station that day. After taking a bus to London with some of his emergency muggle funds he now kept with him (he could have possibly Confunded the driver, but he didn't feel _quite_ that desperate yet), he felt quite tired and wanted to just hide somewhere dark and secluded for a while. He settled for an old and seedy hotel that was somehow indistinguishable in design from many of the other buildings in the city. The electricity was dodgy and there were more bugs than he would have liked to see scurrying around, but it was mercifully a place where Harry could just be alone and think.

There were lots of things to think about. There was the plight of that girl and her family. There was the plight of so many muggles- why was he calling them muggles? They were normal people and Voldemort could kill thousands of them without anyone being able to stop it. There was the fate of all the wizards and witches in the country whose blood wasn't 'pure' enough. There was the great worry of what Voldemort would do once the Order was crushed. He planned an outright war of conquest with people who weren't magical. How many lives would be lost then?

Still, Harry didn't believe himself to be the one person capable of stopping all that destruction. He was still just a student. Just some kid. He had a neat plan, but there was little hope of him being the one who could actually make it work. He resolved to go to France the next day. He could flee the continent. He could start a new life somewhere else. Things would be better there...

* * *

 _It was an old place. Some house built during the 1950s. He was sitting down, watching the TV, as usual. A 9 to 5 job that gave enough money for him to be a consumer. Dark chocolate and roasted coffee beans. Things were normal..._

 _Then there was the sound of shattering glass. Someone had broken in the other room. He tried to move but could not. He couldn't move, his limbs were frozen..._

 _Then a man walked forward. He was covered by a dark cloak and wore a shiny metal mask. He carried a sharp ice axe, which he swung._

 _Harry tried to raise his arms, to cover his head, but it was too late..._

 _It struck, piercing the skull. He swung again-_

Harry awoke to find himself once again in the dark room of the hotel. He quickly moved his hands to his head, checking for any sign of injury. There was none, but that didn't quell the fear in his chest, or the shaking in his arms. He stood up, turned on the light, and walked over to the mirror.

There was no gaping wound, no ice axe lodged in his head. But he was still afraid.

 _That was how Trotsky died, wasn't it? Assassinated. Axe in the head. He was all the way in Mexico, but Stalin still managed to get to him._

Harry tried to tell himself that it was just a dream, and that he had no reason to worry about it, but it didn't work. The thought of his split head refused to leave his mind no matter what he did. It forced him to think:

 _Is America safe? Is Australia safe? Is anywhere I could go to safe?_

Truthfully, he couldn't answer yes to any of those questions. Voldemort was a remorseless, highly gifted sociopath and he would stop at nothing to see Harry dead. He would have no problem chasing Harry to the ends of the Earth. Harry didn't think he was so good at hiding that he could escape Voldemort forever. For a few decades, perhaps, but eventually...

He was afraid, but there was only one way forward. He had to ensure, somehow, that the immortal tyrant would die. And Harry could see only one way he could try to make sure that would happen.

"Now, where can I find some vampires?"


	28. Standing In For Jeanette

This isn't a full crossover with Old World of Darkness because the lore wouldn't make any sense. So really it's more of a partial crossover solely with Vampire the Masquerade, or Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines to be more specific.

* * *

The answer to that question turned out to be painfully obvious for anyone who had a taste in goth movies.

Harry had never watched any goth movies, but he had read up on the more recent history of vampire-wizard relations in Britain, and one of the more recent incidents there involved a fight that occurred at a bustling nightclub. Yes, it was quite stereotypical for vampires to hang out in and run nightclubs, but Harry supposed he couldn't complain. He was a wizard, and most wizards liked to wear robes, brew potions in cauldrons, and fly around on broomsticks.

Harry remembered the address of the nightclub, and figured it would be as good a place as any to ask where the head vampire of the country was staying. When he arrived, however, he found that there was no nightclub there, as the place where the building should have stood was occupied by a furniture store and a bakery.

Unsure of what to do, Harry decided to ask the people working at the shops if they knew what had happened to the old establishment.

Harry walked into the bakery, internally cringing at how his question would sound. "Uh, excuse me, Miss," he said, motioning towards the lady at the counter. "Didn't there use to be, uh, some kind of club here?"

The woman stared at him for a moment before answering. "Oh, yes, but it was closed down five years ago. I heard there was a nasty drug problem going on at that place. Awful business."

"Oh. Did the owners get sent to prison?"

"No, they managed to get away somehow. Rumor is, they even managed to set up shop a couple blocks from here, under new names. If I didn't know better I'd have suspected they bribed someone..."

Now, _that_ was a promising lead.

The place the woman was referring to was a shabby little building squashed in between two giant white warehouses that seemed to serve no practical purpose whatsoever. The club only had a scratched and beat up sign near the door to identify it, and it had no windows or lights of any kind on the outside. It was definitely the kind of place where you could imagine all sorts of illicit transactions occurring, and it probably violated several fire code regulations to boot.

Of course, the place was still empty, as it was in the middle of the afternoon. Harry was forced to stake the place out as the sun slowly crawled across the sky. The invisibility cloak made the task a bit easier, as it allowed Harry to avoid people asking him why he was just sitting there, but it was still mind numbingly boring. Sometimes, he would get up and walk around the general area, but there wasn't much to see. Just more of the same looking rows of buildings that covered every street. Just more cars and pedestrians constantly flowing through the city, like water through pipes.

When the sun dipped below the horizon, the task of watching the club became far more interesting. Now there were some people streaming in at irregular intervals. Most of them were young, and dressed more than a little like junkies. Glancing at them from the shadows, Harry tried to see if there was anything distinctly odd about any of the patrons. From where he was watching, he couldn't tell, as all the people would look equally fitting in a mosh pit. Any one of them could be a vampire, really.

Circling around to the back of the club, Harry once again felt grateful for how easy many things were when you had magic.

" _Alohamora_."

The back door unlocked, and Harry slipped inside. He was in a badly lit corridor, where the walls were covered with large, oil colored blotches, the floor was oily and littered with little bits and pieces of garbage, and the ceiling was marred with streaks that were indicative of water damage. In dark corners of the room, insects were faintly visible scurrying about, and there was a faint, but constant banging in the background that came from the direction of rusted pipes that ran along the ceiling. The walls themselves were painted a weak shade of beige, which clashed horribly with the pronounced and sickly yellow that flickered every few seconds from lights that looked to be at least thirty years old. Bright blue lights and the sound of lousy music blaring away faintly filtered in through a heavy door at the end of the hall.

In a word, the club was uninviting.

Locking the door behind him, Harry checked the side rooms. There were a couple offices there, filled with various files and documents that Harry had no interest in digging through. The corridor branched off to several other closets and utility rooms, but there was no one hanging around there. It seemed like everyone else had gone into the main room.

 _That's strange. I wonder if I could lure a vampire back here for a private conversation... maybe with a note?_

Harry got a piece of paper and wrote a short message on it.

 _Tooo any good lookin blodsuckerss out there:_

 _Comeeon out backstage fur some reeeel fun! I got magic trick an stuff. Eeven blood pops! Just aas good as real neck!_

 _-The Livin Boy_

Harry hoped that regular people would just write the thing off as the incoherent drunken ramblings of a club patron, but a vampire would pick up on the obvious blood related symbolism. For good measure, Harry made all the letters bright red as well.

Harry then quickly slid the paper under the door, and quickly levitated it and stuck it to the other side of the wall, hoping no one would notice it due to the sheer amount of noise and sensory overload going on in the main room. He then retreated to one of the offices, took off the invisibility cloak, and waited.

It wasn't too long, perhaps 15 or 20 minutes, before someone opened the main door. The brief blast of loud music was quickly cut off as the door was slammed shut. Harry stood up, but he wasn't fast enough to react when a lithe figure suddenly shot forward at a ridiculous speed and grabbed him. It was as if the person's motions were being fast forwarded while the rest of the world moved in real time, as Harry observed while he was being lifted up and shaken back and forth.

"WHAT-DO-YOU-THINK-YOU'RE-PLAYING-AT-YOU-LITTLE-PUNK?!" a nasty, high pitched voiced screamed, with each word being punctuated with Harry being rattled back and forth again.

"I can explain-"

The figure responded by throwing Harry right at one of the chairs, which was rather flimsy and fell over when he collided with it. Gasping in pain and rubbing his back (and still being thankful that he didn't end up hitting his head), Harry let his eyes refocus themselves before looking up at his attacker, who had left him alone for a moment.

It was a young woman who he didn't remember seeing enter the club, although missing her wouldn't have been difficult. She was tall and quite thin; perhaps abnormally so, looking at how skinny her arms were. Her face was covered in thick black and white makeup, and her black nails reeked of some kind of disgusting chemical smell. Of course, it was partially masked by the odor of several layers of perfume and cigarette smoke, which went together about as well as cactus quills and eyes do. Her movements tended to be rather twitchy, even when she was standing relatively still, and there was a hungry look in her green eyes that Harry normally would have associated with substance abuse. The current circumstances suggested, however, that there was only one kind of drug she was looking for.

"Well, start talking, idiot!" she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Or do I have to kick your ugly face in to make you remember how your tongue works?!"

"Well firstoffI'mawizardso-"

"ENGLISH! SPEAK ENGLISH!"

Harry sat up and took a deep breath to try and calm himself. "I'm a wizard, so you don't have to worry about me spilling your secret to the other people here."

"Prove it."

"I came in with that cloak over there. It makes you invisible, which is why you can't see part of the desk."

"Oh, really?" the vampire snapped. "Well, why does a wizard feel the need to sneak in to a place where he doesn't belong and magically stick an incriminating message on a place where anyone could read it?"

"Incriminating message? It was hardly-"

"You never know where your enemies might be hiding, moron. Now, why did you want to talk to me?"

Harry started rubbing his hands together. "I wanted to know where the, uh, head vampire is. It's because something urgent happened. Uh, what happened is that Voldemort returned."

In the distance, a muffled cracking sound could be heard.

"And why is this Voldemort guy so important that you think it would get you an audience with the local prince, huh?"

"It's what he's planning to do. Once he finishes going after us-"

Harry was cut off as the back door was loudly wrenched open.

"I'll finish dealing with you in a moment," the vampire said. "Don't scamper off, or I'll break your neck or something."

She turned and stepped out of the office, only to jump back as a flash of red light sped down the hall. Scowling, she began to move incredibly fast again and charged down the hall. There was the sound of a man crying out in pain, the crunching of breaking bones, and a large, limp body hitting the floor.

Harry timidly tried to stand up, only to be immediately accosted by the vampire again.

"So, you set up an ambush to try and kill me, huh?" she hissed, lifting him by the shoulders again.

"I didn't-"

"I'm going to kill you real slowly, you know that? One organ at a time. Starting with... with... ooh, what is that smell?"

The vampire dropped him and wandered back into the hall. Harry followed her, and found the recently deceased form of a Death Eater, complete with metallic mask. The vampire was crouched next to the body, as there was a small trickle of blood oozing out of its ear.

"This one is rich... real rich... mhmm..."

The vampire then suddenly bit into the corpse's neck. There was a revolting slurping sound as she began sucking blood from the body, like a child trying to drain every last drop of a sugary drink with a straw. Her body convulsed slightly as she did this, which spilled more blood onto the floor. She kept going for a while, to the point where Harry couldn't keep watching until she finished.

"This is the best meal I've had in weeks!" the vampire said, blood dribbling down her chin. "Real patrician blood... I haven't had that in years... what were we talking about again?"

 _They can taste if someone is rich and cultured just through their blood? Yeah, right._ "We were talking about how I wanted to see the prince, as you called him, uh..."

"Mira. And I don't think I can just give you an audience with him on a whim. You'd have to do something for me first."

 _At least she's up front about it._ "What did you have in mind?"

Mira stood up and curled her hands into fists. "There are these lousy freaks who keep stealing all of our customers! They keep selling their stuff so cheaply, we can't compete. So it would be great if you could just get rid of them."

"Get rid of them?"

"Yeah. Just, uh, kill them or something?"

Harry grimaced. "Look, I'm not a murderer. Isn't there some other way-"

Mira lazily threw her arms in the air. "Yeah, I'm sure there are. You could, like, get them sent to prison or use your stupid magic to curse them forever? I'm not your mother, you know. I'm sure you can think of something."

"Okay, okay. Where are these people?"

"They usually like to operate around this one place... I'll write the address down. If you want to find incriminating evidence there you should probably follow one of them back to their base of operations. No, I don't know where that is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to clean this mess up." Mira then got up and headed to one of the closets. There was a disturbing note of boredom in her voice that suggested she was quite used to cleaning up bodies.

Harry paused for a moment to examine the dead Death Eater. It wasn't a face he recognized after pulling his mask off. Harry decided to pocket his wand, as having a spare wouldn't hurt and the man clearly no longer had a use for it. Harry decided to take the mask as well, shrinking it down so it fit in one of his pockets. Perhaps it would come in handy if he ever needed to pretend to be a Death Eater.

But there was still a burning question lodged in Harry's mind. How had the man found out where Harry was and instantly apparated there? Surely, it couldn't have been the Ministry's trace, as Harry had done more then a bit of magic the previous night without being found out. Had he accidentally passed by the man at some point? He had been wearing the invisibility cloak for the most of the day, so that seemed unlikely. There was one other possibility, but Harry didn't think it was practical.

 _Did he really set up the Taboo?_

There had been rumors extracted from captured Death Eaters at the end of the last war, rumors that said Voldemort was working on a country wide sort of surveillance system that could track the location of anyone that said a particular word. Many people, including Harry, believed that such a project would be impossible... but if anyone could pull it off, it would be Voldemort. It was frightening to imagine, as now anyone who happened to say the wrong word at the wrong time could instantly be surrounded and killed. It also seemed that Voldemort had chosen a word to track that correlated well with his enemies, as there weren't many people that used his actual name instead of just 'You-Know-Who'. Harry hoped that the encounter was just a coincidence, but decided to be careful with what he said in the future.

"Could you move out of the way, asshole? I'm trying to clean this up."

Harry jumped out of the way as Mira starting dragging the corpse outside, with a mop in hand.

 _And now I have to bust what's obviously a drug operation just so I can talk to the lead vampire. This is going to be fun..._

Harry wrapped the invisibility cloak around him again and slunk into another one of the back offices. He figured that if Mira was going to use him as an impromptu mercenary, the least she could do was offer him a place to stay for a few nights... although the place was in such a bad condition he wondered if renting it out to people would even be legal in the first place. For good measure, he decided to put a shield charm around himself before he went to sleep.

* * *

Harry woke up and felt sore from getting thrown around the previous day. Then he remembered what he was tasked with doing and felt like punching a wall. Of course, doing that wouldn't help anything, so he settled for mildly slapping it instead. It still stung.

Again, he thought about running away to France, and again, the image of his split head floated right to the front of his mind. He tried his old Occlumency practices of clearing his thoughts away, but that image stuck there for a much longer time then he wanted it to.

The place Mira sent him to was clearly on the wrong side of town relative to where Harry had previously been. The buildings here were in an obvious state of disrepair, with paint peeling off rotting wooden sidings, broken windows that nobody had bothered to fix, and graffiti that covered every open surface that could be easily reached on foot (although the last detail wasn't unique to this part of the city, Harry supposed). The place Harry was supposed to be watching was a particularly shabby back alley that totally wasn't suspicious at all. It even had dumpsters big enough to hide several bodies in!

Soon enough, someone sufficiently punk looking showed up and began glaring at a wall. Every now and then, he would glance around, and mutter something inaudible under his breath. Harry continued to watch him for a while, hidden under the cloak, but no one else showed up. After even more pacing, scowling, and murmured swearing, the man decided to leave. Following him, Harry kept his distance as they both went down a number of streets before ending up at a seemingly abandoned parking garage. Harry felt gratified that it wasn't an empty warehouse, at the very least.

The place was quite dark, as all the lights had stopped working a while ago, based on how decrepit they looked. The ground was cracked in several places, and several signs warned people to not enter the area in case the ceiling caved in. Harry put another shield charm around himself, although he was uncertain if it would stop several tons of concrete from squishing him into a fine paste. The man he was following must have memorized his way around, as he never stopped to pull out a flashlight or to adjust his eyes to the darkness.

Further down in the lot, someone had set up a lamp next to a whole bunch of tubes and vials and various liquids, arranged to form some kind of elaborate chemical contraption. There were a couple other people milling around, who began arguing with the man Harry was following as soon as he entered their field of vision. Harry didn't catch all the words, but he gathered that the meeting between them was not a pleasant one.

The man left after that, which left Harry wondering what the best way of dealing with the situation would be. Running straight to the police was an option, but he wasn't sure if his accounts of what were going on would be enough to warrant a full investigation. Plus, Harry didn't want to be called in as a potential witness to the crime, or worse, as a possible accomplice. Perhaps he could try and leave a trail of clues for the police to indirectly follow? Harry doubted he could pull that off in a timely fashion. Perhaps cursing the other people would be the best option. But what curse was the best to use?

As he was thinking, Harry absentmindedly kicked a rock down the sloped part of the road he was sitting on. He didn't think it would alert the other people he saw, who were busy messing with the chemicals and were probably used to the odd bit of rock moving around every now and then, but it did end up hitting a sleeping man in the shadows he hadn't noticed. Harry froze as the person shook themselves and stood up.

"What the hell? I told you guys not to-"

One of the people working with the chemicals cut the man off. "We didn't do it! The noise came from over there." He pointed to a spot near where Harry was.

The recently awoken man glanced around where Harry was crouching, but didn't seem to notice anything. Grumbling, he made some kind of arcane gesture with his hand before looking around the area again. This time, his eyes immediately focused on Harry.

The man's face contorted into a ugly grimace as he emitted a feral growl and charged up the slope at Harry, his hands reforming themselves into sharp claws as he ran. Harry tried to pull off the cloak so he could get a clean shot at the man with his hand, but wasn't quick enough to react before the man slashed at him. Fortunately, the shield he had put up pushed the man back, although the groaning sound it made when the man collided with it made Harry suspect it wouldn't last much longer.

" _Incendio_!" Harry yelped, sending a stream of fire right at the man's chest.

This proved to be both a wise and very unwise thing to do. It was wise because the man was actually a vampire, and the second best way of killing a vampire was with fire. It was very unwise because shooting fire around a meth lab was likely to result in an explosion. As it did when the burning vampire rolled back down the slope and right into all the chemicals.

Harry didn't recall hearing anything; he just felt a huge wave of force slamming him backwards, that left his ears deafened and his vision spinning. After a moment, he forced himself to stand up. He didn't feel any serious pains that might have indicated that his internal organs had ruptured; he supposed he had his now broken shield charm to thank for that. His ears were still quite angry with him, as now all he could hear was an awful ringing sound, and he felt like he was falling in a constantly changing direction as parts of his inner ear struggled to make sense of what had happened. He put one hand on the wall while picking up the invisibility cloak with the other, which took a few attempts to grab.

Then the ceiling began to make a horrible scraping noise.

"Oh f-f-f-"

Harry stumbled forward, trying to get outside of the lot. After a few missteps, he managed to keep himself balanced at a walking pace, before breaking out into a sprint. Behind him, a large chunk of the ceiling fell down and hit the floor, creating a huge cloud of grey dust.

"Come on-"

Now running as fast as his poorly exercised legs could carry him, Harry desperately sped up the last slope of the lot leading outside. After running a good bit farther, he dared to look behind him at the damage he caused.

Surprisingly, the whole place hadn't collapsed. The first level was still accessible and free of any new debris (though for how long it would stay that way, Harry could not guess). It seemed the major damage was done only at the lower levels, were the lab was. Harry wondered what had happened to the other people who had been down there. They had almost certainly died; which put a nasty twinge of guilt in Harry's gut. True, he hadn't meant to kill them, but his actions, accidental as they were, had doomed them all the same. The police would probably write it off as a drug brewing mishap, assuming they found the bodies.

Trying to calm his rapid breathing, Harry grabbed a wall and took a few deep breaths. They didn't help much, as his mind was still panicking over how close he had come to dying.

"Never again. Never again. Never..."

The sound of sirens growing louder in the distance shook Harry into action. He once again donned the invisibility cloak and snuck away from the lot, and back to the club.

* * *

Harry was particularly on edge while waiting for the sun to set. Constantly pacing back and forth in one of the back offices, his mind would keep replaying the scenes of the lot. The creature lunging, the bright flames and smoke of the explosion, and the roar of concrete crashing into the ground. He would have much preferred to have taken a nap, to let his mind grab a bit of rest, but his body wouldn't let him. Of course, there ultimately wasn't a definitive separation between his mind and body, but either way, he wasn't getting any sleep.

It took much longer for Mira to show up then Harry expected it to, but she did eventually come in through the back door, and she was practically skipping in delight.

"You did it!" she said. "I can't believe you actually did it! I never would have thought you would actually serve a useful purpose!"

"This isn't funny!" Harry snapped. "People actually died, you know? That's not worth celebrating."

Mira rolled her eyes. "That was the whole point! My boss was there, you know. I thought he was just going to kill you, but you did one better and got him killed instead! Now I can run this place all by myself."

Harry paused for a moment. "You mean you knew one of the people there was a vampire?"

"Duh? Of course I did! And I really thought you wouldn't have what it took to put him down. But you got him! Now he's nothing but ashes and bones!"

She punched Harry on the arm as she said this, which was probably intended to be friendly, but hurt a lot more then Harry thought it would.

"That was an accident," Harry said, rubbing his arm, which was now showing the early signs of bruising. "Well, not killing him specifically, but there were other people there who died."

"Oh, whatever. They probably would have died later in a gang fight or something. Or from overdosing. Those kinds of people just have naturally short lifespans, you know?"

 _Probably because of people- no,_ monsters _like you._ For a moment, Harry thought about setting her on fire as well, but decided against it. She could probably pin him faster then he could draw his wand, and it would just get in the way of his plan anyway. "Look, can I just have the head vam- I mean, the prince's address?"

"Aw, are you really sure you want to go so soon?" Mira cooed. "I could really use someone around to make more 'accidents' happen, you know? And I can tell just by looking at you that you must be pretty desperate for female company-"

"The address, please," Harry growled.

"Fine, loser." Mira grabbed a pen and began scribbling away on a scrap of paper. When she handed it to Harry, it took him a moment to decipher the cramped and loopy handwriting.

"So this guy is in one of those fancy skyscrapers?" Harry asked.

"Totally. He's, like, such a pampered little baby. But don't tell him I said that, or I'll kill you."

"Right."

Harry sighed. He had gotten played pretty badly, and now he was walking right into the figurative lion's den. There was little hope in his mind that the meeting with the prince would go as well as he hoped it would.

Still, to stop Voldemort and keep himself safe, he had to try, at the very least.


	29. Cop Out Ending Author's Note Thing

So about this thing.

The reason I've given up writing it is because I found the way it was going to be inherently unsatisfying, dipping below my already rock bottom standards for what a story should be. The reason I found for this is because of how the second part of the story I imagined just would not connect to the first half without ruining the integrity of the main character's motivations. To go into more detail, the 'first half' of the story would be all the scenes involving the plot from the books and the hunt for the horcruxes, while the second half would be starting from the introduction of the vampires and covering a larger planned series of misadventures. The problem here was that ultimately, there was no compelling reason for the Harry here to go on these misadventures. The character as I had set up in the first part of the story would never do such things. He would either have actually run away, or killed himself in response to the ever growing level of anxiety in his life. Both of these endings would have been satisfactory to the character, but wouldn't have given any resolution to the actual plot. Not that the plot was terribly interesting, but still.

(This conflict was something I was aware of when I started writing the story, but I didn't bother resolving it because I mainly wanted to write this thing based on what would be in the first half of the story to begin with.)

Just so I don't forget it, I'll put down how the original second half of the story was supposed to go. So if you really did want to see how the plot would play out or just disagree with me on how the character should have been written, or you want to write your own, better version of the story (you absolute madman), you can have some kind of closure:

Following his encounter with Mira, Harry would have gone to the headquarters of the local vampire middle management at an office building somewhere in London. There he would have met LaCroix, who would have threatened, bribed, or mind controlled him into going to a crypt in northern Africa to look for a magical sword in exchange for their help in the war. In the process of looking through this crypt, Harry would have been tracked by probably Draco Malfoy who would have gotten killed by the guardians of the crypt who would be giant ripoffs of the hammer haunts from Thief as part of a thinly veiled attempt to ramble on about one of my favorite games. Harry would retrieve the sword, which would have the power to instantly kill vampires during the night, and return it to LaCroix. Along the way someone would inform Harry that LaCroix had been planning to intervene in the war all along and that he was just trying to mine free favors out of Harry.

After this, Harry would look for more help for the war as the vampires are afraid of intervening against the giants Voldemort had recruited. A contact of some kind (possibly Nagini who had gained a mind of her own and was looking to have Voldemort overthrown so she could attempt running the world from the shadows) would point him in the direction of the Society of Gilmour, a mixed group of wizards and muggle scientists/engineers who believe that progress would be best made by combining magic with technology, who had been classified as a terrorist group for trying to reveal magic publicly to the world. They would inform Harry that they would be willing to help in the war in exchange for protection from the Ministry after the war so they could work on their experiments freely. They also would need Harry to rescue some of their imprisoned members. This would lead to a prison break from a severely understaffed and Dementor-free Azkaban, ad looking through an abandoned magical mental asylum for plans of a magically enhanced railgun.

With the help of both groups assured, Harry returns to Hogwarts which is now the last bastion of Dumbledore and the old Ministry's regime. To the resignation of some Order members, Dumbledore would accept the help. The Battle of Hogwarts would be fought, but it would instead end up as a massively successful romp for Dumbledore's side, with the Death Eater forces being caught completely off guard. With victory potentially in sight, Dumbledore reveals to Harry his status as the last horcrux. After drinking a bunch, Harry resolves to try torturing Voldemort into insanity himself instead of facing his own death. He locates Voldemort using his scar in some kind of hideout and attempts to storm the place using a magically enhanced MP5 and a lot of fire, but ends up caught by Voldemort. Voldemort tries to kill him, but instead takes out the horcrux. Either the shock of failing to kill Harry a second time of being interrupted by Nagini results in him fleeing (to be hunted down by vampires later) or being captured and fed to Dementors.

After this, a surviving Harry watches as the vampires start rebuilding the wizarding world in such a manner so that the events of the books could never happen again, by severely stripping down the Hogwarts curriculum, planting spies and surveillance systems wherever they can, and rewriting many of the laws to keep wizards down. Harry ponders how much influence he actually had over the war (the contact will reveal others were planning to help the Society of Gilmour if he wouldn't) while Eve proclaims her disgust for how things have turned out and blames him for everything.


End file.
